A Wise Girl
by Raven Of Dark
Summary: 13 years of pain, suffering, & a wish for death is suddenly taken away when a man with slate/blue eyes gently grabs my wrist and just gives me a smirk.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello all! This is my first adventure into a crossover story. I REALLY hope you like it, I have been working this for about a month. I would love your opinions, reviews, thoughts, what you like, what you didn't.

-Summary: 13 years of pain, suffering, & a wish for death is suddenly taken away when a man with slate/blue eyes gently grabs my wrist and just gives me a smirk.

-Story revolves mostly in normal London, with some mentions of the WW, maybe an 'adventure' to it later on. fem!harry, non romantic john/sherlock, diffrent mycroft (to a point) and greg just being greg.

* * *

The walk back to the flat was long. My face had this ache that reminded me that I did a stupid thing. But, I could only ignore it for so long. How does one simply ignore the constant belittling of the men who saved my life? Another pulse of pain has me stopping, leaning against the nearest object, it being a red phone box that was cool in the mid spring air. I notice too late the CCTV camera moving to face me, but when I finally do, I start fast walking the remaining blocks to the flat, knowing I needed to get there first, before…

After 5 minutes, the door opens quietly for me. '_Please be off. Let there be a case.'_ This is the only thing passing through my mind as I creep up the steps. I glance at the door leading to our land lady's flat and blissfully see the lights off. But, the real obstacle lay up the stairs. The bag is digging into my shoulder, my usual carrying arm useless to me at the moment. All I need to do is get to my room and I can get cleaned up, before I'm seen. My foot hits the top landing and I freeze, listening for the telltale signs of my dad's breathing or da's laptop. But, nothing. Not a sound from the living room or kitchen. Sighing, I continue walking until I pass the kitchen archway, when a long fingered hand gently grabs my chin, bringing slate-blue eyes into mine.

_'Shite.'_

Normally, Dad would have read this in my eyes and smirked, but his eyes were hard and focused, taking in the injuries to my face, neck and arms. I can see the anger build behind his eyes and before I could stop him, he turned and called out,

"John."

My eyes closed as a scuffling was heard; Da getting out of the chair was always noisy. Then his fingers replaced dads, medical knowledge leading him through my cuts and bruises. I cracked my eye lids open to see da's blue eyes scanning my injuries while dads were buried into my green.

"Stella, what happened?"

"John, do pay attention. She obviously has gotten into a physical argument with…five others. This didn't happen at the school, otherwise we would have heard from the headmistress. No, this happened on the way home; confronted by the plebeians. The only question is why let yourself be brought to their level." Dad's deep voice cut through me.

But I still don't answer; instead I let da guide me to his chair while he then gets the first aid kit, dad once again watching me, only now he is in his chair, knees not drawn up like he normally does. His fingers are twitching, an action that shows how worried/frustrated/angry he is. An old fear creeps up in my subconscious and I felt myself shrink into the plush chair, my heart rate increasing.

_'I knew it. I knew I would muck it all up.'_

"Stop it." Dad's voice almost cuts through my mind.

But I can't. The shakes start before the tears, the painful memories over riding the past 3 years of my life. Memories of pain, hunger, humiliation, shame and a wish for death. I'm hyperventilating, fingernails digging into my forearms, the nails pushing into my already bleeding wounds. Gentle hands pull my fingers away, but I can't calm down.

_'Please, I don't want to go back. I'll be killed if I go back.'_

I suddenly find myself on the ground, dad's arms wrapped around me, my head tucked under his chin, hands held tightly in his, his voice in my ear. I don't know what he is saying, but between this and da's gently hands cleaning my injuries bring me down from another panic attack. I thought I was getting better; I haven't had one for months. When I finally come down, I realize I've been talking the whole time, telling them _exactly _what happened and why.

"I don't understand why you didn't just come to us." Da whispered, wrapping the last bandage around my forearm before turning to my face.

"I can normally take it, I've taken worse. But dad just got back and every day when he was gone, she took great pleasure in tormenting me about his 'false' status. Even when he comes back, is proven innocent and is given a bloody knighthood," Dad grimaces at this, "she still digs at me. She just doesn't stop and I'm just tired of being the bloody high and mighty HERO!"

My voice is cracking, but my eyes are locked in my da's and he has this understanding expression that just makes him look older then he should. I know what he went through when dad 'died', I was there and I know he knew I took it really hard. Dad was the one who pulled me away from my ex-uncle before he broke my wrist in his beefy, puce hand. The one who saw through my 'hero shield' and was the one who adopted me with some help from a 'minor' government employee. To suddenly not have him there because some psycho man decided he was bored and would take one of few important people to me, reminded me too much of what I ran from.

A gentle scoff from over my head pulls my eyes up into dad's slate/blue. He has his head tilted, a small smile towards me before he kisses my temple.

"You foolish girl, no one expect a hero." He whispers into my hair, arms wrapping tighter around me.

A voice, so similar my dad's, pulls our attention the door, to a figure in a 3 piece suit leaning on a black umbrella.

"A hero is no longer required of you and you are only required to be a 16 year old student."

_'Go tell the Minister this.'_ I snapped in my head.

As he always does, my uncle seemed to read my mind. "I already have, has he been bothering you still?"

All I do is point to a pile of unopened parchment letters with the Minister of Magic's seal on everyone. The latest pile is 10 letters high, the writing on the address more agitated the newer they are. My uncle simple glares at them before pocketing them. Usually, this is where he would leave, but his blue/slate eyes were locked on me again, the foreign emotion freezing me in place.

"Tell me you didn't see her getting into this and just let her walk back injured?" Da asked my uncle with his jaw clenched and his blue eyes trained on him.

"No John, I only saw the aftermath and found her when she came off of York Street onto Baker. I can tell you that of the five plebeians, 3 are unconscious and the other 2 have fractured ribs and wrists, as well as…fractured egos."

Now, I could be wrong, but I could swear I saw _pride_ in my uncle's eyes for a brief moment. It was only a second, I could be wrong. But something I knew wasn't made up in my mind was the prideful chuckle I heard and felt from dad, his free hand rubbing small circles on my back. Da looked torn between anger at my fighting and joy at my defending myself. He didn't get a chance to respond because there were footsteps on the stairs; fast and heavy.

"That will be Lestrade." Dad whispers, standing and pulling me up with him.

A second later, the salt & peppered DI Greg Lestrade rushes through the living room door. His brown eyes search the room quickly before landing on me, his lips set into a half grin half grimace.

"Cor, got into a tiff didn't you?" He asks, moving forward until he stops.

His fingers lift my chin up, and since Da hadn't bandaged it up yet, he got blood on said appendages. I know he's not here in DI mode, no he is here in Uncle Greg mode, and I feel the tension release from Dad's grip.

"Got a call in 10 minutes ago, woman sees this group of blokes and birds ganging up on another bird. She then proceeds to inform us that the lone girl does get hurt, but then dishes it out right back, knocking out 2 boys and a girl before injuring the others, even with several injuries to her own person. First I thought, _not my department_, than the responding officer shows me the CCTV footage. Imagine my surprise when I see my little niece fighting back like a pro." Greg says all this, he eyes never leaving my own.

But I don't respond & before dad can, Greg speaks again.

"Obviously, no charges against you, seeing as it were all self-defense. Just wanted to know you were alright."

His gentle tone set me even more at ease, letting him pull me into a tight hug, despite the sharp pain it causes. I can hear dad whispering to da, who then talks in hushed tones to my uncle, who keeps sending glances my way. I'm closer to my uncle than people would think, given his personality. It would surprise most who knew him just how protective he was of me, given that I have _only_ been his niece for three years. At times, I understand dad's irritation at my uncle at how overprotective he could get. Sometimes, I feel like a prisoner in my own home and I've let my uncle know this, sometimes very loudly, much to my dads' pleasure.

I see my uncle nod at da before looking at me, a guarded expression in his blue/slate eyes. I pull out of Greg's arms and walk carefully to my uncle, the pain still pulsing through my head. He simple pulls me into a brief hug, his lips at my ear, whispering. After this, he takes his leave, the black umbrella tucked under his arm. As if coming off an adrenaline high, as soon as the front door closes, I suddenly collapse to the floor, sobbing as the pulses of pain rake my body.

"Stella!" My dads' combined voices ring through the flat.

Da's hands try to help but there isn't much he can do without painkillers, so he rushes to his phone. I'm guessing he is calling Sara, the head nurse at the Surgery center where he works part time. Dad's arms gently hold me, my head tucked under his chin again.

"Never dull around you, huh poppet?" He whispers, fingers raking through my hair as another spasm of pain rocks my body.

_'No matter how used to it I am, pain is no fun.'_ My mind is fuzzy, but I can hear Greg talking to dad, saying he would work personally on the case, make sure that no one got away with anything.

"Even Lucille Marroe? Pretty sure her father could get her out of this. Scum bag wanker." I ask, watching Greg go into DI Lestrade mode.

"Oh he can try, but when we have clear CCTV footage of her throwing you into the wall then trying to hold you while the boys punched you, don't think that little bird is going anywhere." He replies before seeing my reaction.

I see da freeze in the middle of a sentence, turning his blue eyes back to me while I feel dad tense up again behind me, the hand in my hair stilled. I hadn't told them _that_ yet. I think Greg sensed this, because he quickly left the flat, leaving me with two overprotective dads.

"Why would you leave that out?" Da asks, kneeling back down in front of me.

I open my mouth, but fail to come up with an adequate answer. Dad lifts the front of my blouse up, revealing ugly black and blue bruises all over my abdomen. Making a noise, he gently pulls my up again, letting da examine me once more, only my torso this time. After 20 minutes of salve and bandaging, they let me go upstairs to change after a dose of painkillers, provided by Sara, who had this look that made me fear for the idiots who hurt me. I make it up my bedroom and collapse at my desk, my laptop still open to the news article I had been reading this morning before school. Looking into the mirror hanging over the desk, I'm unsurprised to see my skin paler than normal, the dried blood making it worse. My long, jet black hair was tousled on one side while the other was more tamed down, due to dad's fingers. Finally resolving to try and take a small shower, I begin to strip, grimacing as the now ruined school uniform fell to the floor in a heap, dried blood flaking off onto the ground. Moving into the bathroom, I see what my dads saw: bruising up and down my back, legs and arms, scratches down my back and what looked like a hand print on my neck. After the painkillers kick in, I can finally move more like a human & ease into the shower, watching the water turn red/brown, careful not to get the bandages around my abdomen wet. Thankful for the detachable showerhead, I somehow wash my hair, noticing blood coming off from my scalp as well.

_'Damn, well, I have to let him know.'_

I get dressed in my favorite soft pjs, leaving my hair wrapped loosely in the towel before moving back down the steps, stopping when I see and hear my dads talking in the living room.

"Dammit Sherlock! I'm not going to just sit back and let this little group of….of…" Da's voice trails off & I can see his fists shaking before he turned and hit the doorway behind him.

I love these men with every fiber of my being; the last thing I need to be doing to causing more upset in the flat. I should have just run, but that damn Gryffindor pride and all.

'_Well now Potter, look at the mess you're in now.'_ I could swear that was Malfoy's voice running through my head. He always knew how to egg me on and always did, until…until _that_ occurred. After the incident, he was always…dare I say _kind_?

But, enough about the blonde wonder, I have other things to worry about. I inch off the steps and head back to the living room, da sitting in his chair, a cuppa steaming in his hands while dad is standing near his desk, texting either Greg or my uncle.

"Da?"

I don't normally speak so low, but my throat feels like fire and I know that they both hear the scratchy hoarseness that causes da to push his cuppa into my hands before I'm put in dad's chair. Before I can continue, I feel the blood creep down my forehead, which is noticeable due my hair being still up in the towel. Da's eyes widen before he is in doctor mode again, fingers gently going through my hair.

"Not much I can do about this, without bandaging your whole head. For right now, we'll use the towel and apply pressure and see if it helps cease the flow. The cuts aren't deep, but there are two or three areas that concern me. Want to tell us why you have wounds there too? No more secrets, Stella."

Dad sits on the edge of the chair, doing his own inspection of my head while I take a long sip of the tea in my hands, gathering my words. I take a few more sips until dad's fingers cease and rest on the nape of my neck. Putting the now empty tea cup down, I open my lips and answer.

"I think I happened when Lucille threw me or when one of the trolls grabbed me. I honestly don't know da. I knew it was stupid to try and sort her out. I _knew_ I should have just come home. But I let my foolish pride blind my actions and I got hurt; I just thought that I wouldn't have to deal with things like that once I left the wizarding world."

My voice cracks again, stopping the flow of words, but I see that da doesn't need more said. He simply nods before leaning forward and kissing my forehead. He mutters something about needing his own cuppa again and goes into the kitchen, leaving me with dad. He is silent, completely still, bringing me to look up at him, seeing him gazing at a picture on the mantel.

It's from my first Christmas in the flat, 10 months after I was...saved by my dads. At that point, I was still unsure of the pair, although by that time I was already adopted by dad and my name changed. I still have injuries from my ex-uncle and my…adventures from my previous year. But, I was happy and smiling, wrapped in a sweater that da has bought for me while he pushed dad down for the picture. I remember that being a moment where I knew I would be safe with them, knew that they would do anything for me; so I resolved to try my best & get better, letting these two men into my heart.

"I understand, poppet." Dad's voice draws me from my memories, once again feeling his fingers resting on the nape of my neck. "Believe me, I understand why you stood up to her, but if I ever lost you…"

He trails off, but his eyes stay on me, shame building up in my heart again. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I bury my face into his chest, the familiar scent of rain and pine pulling the tears out again. I find myself sobbing again, dad's hand again rubbing circles on my back, while he pulls me up only to sit in the chair, pulling me to his lap. He lets me curl up in his lap, putting my head under his chin again. I've stopped myself crying, but I still feel the need to be close him, not that he seems to mind.

A knocking draws the attention of all three of us and da leaves to answer it, muttering about the time and inconsiderate morons, sounding a bit like dad actually.

_'For not being a couple, they are sure beginning to act like a married duo.'_ The thought brings a small smile to my lips.

But this doesn't last long, as two pair of footsteps coming up the steps causes both dad and I to sit up, his hands resting protectively over me. Da walks into the room first, a grim expression filling his face. The next person is someone I thought I would never see again

"Ms. Potter, how…delightful to see you unharmed."

A/N: OK, so you know what to do. Please review, i eat them for breakfast. I cannot say what the posting schedule will be, it does highly depend on you wondrous readers.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello all! This is my first adventure into a crossover story. I REALLY hope you like it, I have been working this for about a month. I would love your opinions, reviews, thoughts, what you like, what you didn't.

-Summary: 13 years of pain, suffering, & a wish for death is suddenly taken away when a man with slate/blue eyes gently grabs my wrist and just gives me a smirk.

-Story revolves mostly in normal London, with some mentions of the WW, maybe an 'adventure' to it later on. fem!harry, nonromantic john/sherlock, differentish Mycroft (to a point) and Greg just being Greg.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters. Duh. That is all I will say.

A/N: OH MY GODDESS! Thank you for all the love! I really appreciate all of you. I will warn you, this one is kind of dark, but it will give you a reason why she left.

* * *

I always hate Hogwarts at this time of year; it's cold no matter how many layers I wear or warming charms I use or how many cups of tea I drink. Deep in the Scottish hills in the dead of winter actually made me wish for Surrey again. I wrap my scarf again around my neck before I head out the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, on my way to Potions. I'm surprisingly alone today, normally Neville waits for me but he had Herbology instead. Sometimes Hermione or Ron try to walk with me, but I think that they have finally gotten into their heads that I don't want anything to do with them. After the disastrous 1st year and them not even ready to believe that I had _nothing_ to do with the attacks happening this year, I washed my hands of the pair of nitwits.

Granger thinks she is all high and mighty just because she is top of the 2nd years. Ron thinks that by being friends with me, he will somehow become famous; how, I have no clue. If he wants the fame, he can have it. I never have time for myself, as everyone wants a piece of the girl-who-lived, idiotic wizarding world and their need to hyphenate everyone with power and/or fame. Really, who wants to famous for something that I can't even remember, wasn't even me it was my mum, and is the result of my parents dying?

I'm happy that the holidays have passed; spending Christmas by myself in the old, giant castle was always super creepy. The twins offered to stay, but if they did, then Ron and their weird little sister Ginny would stay too, so I declined. Having classes start up again and having the student body back was nice; it broke up the silence of the castle that let me think too much.

Another set of stairs passed beneath my feet as I continue my journey to the dungeons, not paying attention to my surrounding. I don't see the forms come up behind me, but I do notice when I suddenly find myself being dragged into an empty classroom. The door was closed and locked before I was thrown to the floor, finally getting a look at my assailant. The term quickly multiplied as I found three males standing over me, 5th years by the looks of them. Two were Ravenclaws while the third was Slytherin. I didn't know their names and that frightened me even further because the first two were leering at me while the third was simply staring at me.

"What is going on? What do you want?" I ask, backing up until my back hit the large desk against the far wall.

"We've been watching you Potter, gotta say, you are a very interesting girl." The Slytherin replied, moving forward.

The Ravenclaws chuckled before shrugging off their robes while the Slytherin walked forward until he knelt down in front me. Before I could respond, he had my hands in his, hand cuffs clicking close.

"There we go, don't need you using those little hands of yours now do we?"

Panic began to well up in my mind, my eye darting around the dusty room, but the other two sneers at me before blocking the door. I'm suddenly thrown down, hands tearing my robes off before a loud ripping noise reveals my blouse had been torn off. I begin yelling, but my voice cuts off when the Slytherin back hands me, my head whipping back. He then gags me with my own blouse before continuing. I'm soon bare to the world on a dusty, freezing floor and I begin to shiver as the cold seeps into my core. The look in the boy's face is frightening.

"There's a good girl, look how you're responding. Always knew precious Potter wasn't as saintly as they say. You know you are enjoying this."

He whispers all this while his hands begin moving over me, causing bile to rise in my throat, but I try to keep it down. With the gag, if I vomit, I'll suffocate; but that might preferable. I try to move away, which just earns me another hit, this time into my abdomen. Screaming into the gag, I watch with horror as he undresses.

'_No…no…NO!'_

That…that was my last coherent thought before…before those monsters…somehow during another round of one of them continuing what the others left off, the gag fell out and I found the strength to let out the loudest scream I can muster, again earning a new bruise, but I don't stop. I keep at it until the door is blasted open and the dust is stirred up. The oaf on top of me is blasted away, allowing to frantically move away into the corner, dragging my knees up while trying to get my arms out from behind my back. My whole body hurts and my muscles are convulsing as I finally get my bound wrists over the heels of my feet. I'm not paying attention as the three ogres are bound and gagged, nor do I see the shoes of their capture move toward me.

But I do see them when they stop in front of me, freezing my movements. I don't look up, but I suddenly feel a warm cloth drape over me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Slytherin crest on the robe; but all that matters is that I have cover, so I pull it tighter around me.

"I know you aren't alright, but can you move?"

My eyes snap up to see a familiar blonde kneeling down in front of me.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes, Potter, me. Now, can you move? We need to get you the hospital wing."

I'm not used to hearing him talk like a normal person, nor am I used to him even talking to me without spite. But his silver eyes are watching me carefully, his hands held out to me, offering support. My eyes dart over to the three idiots, but they were out cold and bound up really well; but why was he helping. The wariness must have shown because he scoffed before he stood.

"Potter, I don't care what you're thinking right now. What matters is that I need to get you to Madam Pomfrey." He sounds frustration, but his eyes are locked on the trio of clots.

I hesitated before I agreed. "Please, can you look away?"

He only nodded before turning, facing towards the door. I quickly located my skirt and underwear, but my blouse was ruined, so I just wrapped Malfoy's robe tighter before somehow standing. I don't know why, but the bastards had kept my shoes on, so there was one less thing to worry about; now if only the world would stop tilting. The world suddenly snaps back into focus as hands land on my shoulders, but is quickly out of sorts again as I lurch away from the touch.

"Don't…don't touch me."

"You can barely stand on your own, let alone attempt to walk the three floors up the infirmary. Potter, please, let me help."

"Why are you helping? I figured you would take great pleasure in seeing me like this." I snap, the shakes raking my frame.

"No one deserves that, let alone you." His reply freezes me.

His eyes were so bloody emotional! I just knew he wasn't pulling my leg, but his last comment throws me.

"What does that bloody well mean?"

"Look Potter, despite what you may think, I don't hate you. I was very miffed at you not wanting a friendship, because believe it or not, I honestly wanted to be friends. I made a bad show of myself in Diagon last year and I know it. All I have ever known before that was what my father wanted me to hear. I'm tired of fighting, aren't you?"

He pauses, letting me take in what I just heard. This is not the spoiled prince that everyone else knows; no this is a different Draco Malfoy. After a few moments, I nod in response.

"I…I understand…Draco." My voice is hushed, feeling even more vulnerable.

I see him let go of a held breath before he gave a sad smile.

"Right then, Pot…Stella, we need to get you to Madam Pomfrey."

With Draco gently guiding my foggy steps, we make to the hospital wing, where the matron went into a tizzy, pulling me into a secluded room as soon as she saw me, her face paling as she soon realized what happened. She summoned Professor McGonagall, the headmaster and Professor Snape, for Draco, who she tried to blame this…this thing on. But after my insistence that he actually _protected_ me, she let it drop and began the process of trying the help me. I remember looking out the now open door to see Draco pacing, hands shoved into his pockets & then having Madam Pomfrey inform me that I would need to be put into a forced sleep before the world went dark.

* * *

All I could do is stare at the headmaster with my mouth hanging open like Weasel did when eating. What did he just say? He cannot be telling truth, this has to be a bad dream. Draco quickly voices my thoughts.

"What do you mean they aren't being charged? How could they not be?" His silver eyes were lit up with anger, fist shaking harshly at his side.

"There just is not enough evidence to charge them, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore's voice cuts through me.

"HOW CAN THERE NOT BE?" Draco's voice rang harshly through the infirmary.

"Mr. Malfoy, take that tone again or I will be forced to take action." The headmaster's ice blue eyes watched Draco before he turned and left the room.

That left me with an angry dragon, a quiet Neville and two VERY pissed off twins. My small group of friends…yes somehow Draco moved into that area in the past three days, turned towards me at the same time, but I don't look up. I can't stop shaking; my heart is beating so fast I swear I can hear it through my chest.

"I can't do this anymore."

My voice cracks as I say this, tears streaming down my face. After three days, most of the physical pain was healed, but the mental & emotional scars reopened every day when Madam Pomfrey tried to help me sit or move and I can't stop the violent flinch that are produced when the twins want to hold me when I cry and I just can't.

"I'm done. This world only wants me around to fight their bloody battles and I'm sick of it. When I need help, no one with the power to even tries. Those monsters attacked me and NOTHING is being done about it! I want to leave, I can't stay here anymore, and I don't care what the world will think!"

"Okay."

Draco's voice is soft, but his eyes hold a fierce conviction. Whipping his wand out, he transfigures my gown into warm clothes.

"Get dressed. Anything you need from the tower that the twins can get? Or maybe Longbottom, no one will suspect him."

I don't even hesitate; I know that look in his eyes. "My trunk, it has everything important to me in, along with the red journal on my nightstand."

"Ok, please go retrieve that somehow and meet us by the stairway to the Potion's classroom." Neville nods after Draco says this and bolts out of the infirmary.

"Stella, I will get you away, I promise." Draco whispers, staring into my eyes before he too leaves the room.

Without touching me, the twins help me into my shoes and quickly, we start to leave.

"Miss Potter!"

Freezing in place, I turn my head to see Madam Pomfrey standing in the doorway. Thinking my plan was thwarted already, I was surprised to see a small satchel in her hands that clinked gently when she moved forward.

"There are several potions that you will still need to finish healing. I do not approve of you leaving, but it is for the best. Be well and do well by yourself my dear."

With that she went back to her office and closed the door. The twins prompted me out of the infirmary and we somehow made it to the staircase without meeting anyone. But again, the cold was beginning to seep into my body, the shivers starting up again. Five minutes later found Neville with us again, handing me my shrunken trunk which was big again for a moment when I grabbed my warmest winter jacket, my favorite one; it was lined with soft fleece that was charmed to keep heat in, no matter how long it is worn in even the worst conditions. With my trunk re-shrunk and stuffed into my pocket, we waited for Draco. The blonde showed up after another five minutes before he led us back the way he came before stopping before a painting of a rather irritated Salazar Slytherin, who only glared when Draco whispered the password, letting us into what I now assume is Professor Snape's office.

The dour looking man only gives me a small nod before turning to Draco.

"After you go through, you have ten minutes before the connection closes again. Do not be late. But, I'm afraid that it would not be in your best interest for you three to follow."

With that said, he left us alone, the door clicking close behind him. I look at Neville & the twins, trying to find the right words, but they just give me sad smiles. Despite the flinches it caused, all three kiss my cheeks and whisper goodbyes.

"Don't forget about us, love. You will always be our little sister." The twins spoke at once.

"Just because you're leaving the world doesn't mean we stop being friends."

That was all Neville had to say, his brown eyes sparkling.

Before I could start sobbing, I turned to Draco and nodded.

"We need to go in together. It will be a tight fit, but a quick trip ok?" He whispered, looking at the fireplace, already green from the floo powder.

I nodded and stepped in with him, letting him grab hold of the outside of the jacket before he whispered

"Malfoy Manor."

* * *

I hate floo travel. Not as much as I dislike traveling by port key, but it is right up there on my list of wizarding world oddities that I hate. I never fail to fall over, vomit or pass out when I port key and the floo network just makes me feel _wrong_ for a while after I exit. DO NOT get me start on apparating; that is the worst. Who in their right mind wants to be squeezed through a tube every bleeding time they travel? Not this girl, nope, no thanks.

When we arrive at the manor, my stomach is rolling, but I somehow gracefully exit the fire, my hand gripping cool marble as my mind stops free falling. I hear Draco talking behind me, but I let it sink in that I just left the 'safety' of Hogwarts to the home of a man who once supported the creature who attacked and murdered my parents. But it is a woman's voice that I hear respond to Draco before I heard

"Miss Potter?"

Stiffly, I turn to find Narcissa Malfoy five feet from me, concern in her blue eyes. She looks me over and frowns, but does nothing more.

"You are welcome to stay here for the moment until you figure out the next stage of your escape."

"No, thank you, but no Mrs. Malfoy. No, think I best be off back to…to my aunt's home. I do not want to linger. I need to leave the wizarding world completely. Please, I do not know what you might have told your husband, but let him know that I want no part in this world's fight anymore. If he and his friends leave me alone, I won't bother them and they do want they want to. Draco, thank you, for all your help."

He smiles.

"School won't be the same without you. Who am I going to bicker with, if not you?"

"Just torment Weasel and Weaslette for me, which will keep you busy for a bit."

"Please let me create a port key for you then, my dear. I know it's not the most…wait no. Let me teach you how; it is simple. While thinking of your location, simply tap your wand on the object of choice and say _portus_."

Narcissa handed me a silver spoon, a graceful M carved into the handle. Thanking her, I turn to the task at hand and whisper the spell while thinking of the park three blocks from number 4 Privet Drive. The spoon glowed blue before it went back to its normal shine. After thirty seconds, I felt the familiar tug at my navel before the entrance parlor of Malfoy Manor disappeared.

A/N: Ok, wow. 7 pages, over 3K words. Plus, all the love! You guys do not understand how much motivation it gives me when I get 500+ views overnight. Ok, again, reviews & opinions are nutrients good for my soul.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hello all! This is my first adventure into a crossover story. I REALLY hope you like it. I would love your opinions, reviews, thoughts, what you like, what you didn't.

-Summary: 13 years of pain, suffering, & a wish for death is suddenly taken away when a man with slate/blue eyes gently grabs my wrist and just gives me a smirk.

-Story revolves mostly in normal London, with some mentions of the WW, maybe an 'adventure' to it later on. fem!harry, nonromantic john/sherlock, differentish Mycroft (to a point) and Greg just being Greg.

Ok this one covers the after effect of leaving then (drum roll) London.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters. Duh. That is all I will say.

* * *

It's still dark when I arrive in the park, my feet slipping on the ice beneath me on the sidewalk, causing me to fall onto the hard grass. I land awkwardly, the hard ground rocking my still bruised form.

'_I can't go back now, Vernon will flip. No, I'll have some chance with just Aunt Petunia.'_ I let this thought pass while I stand again, eyes scanning the park.

I finally find my target; the gardener's shed. It might not be warm, but it will at least give me a place from the elements. I almost regret leaving Malfoy Manor, but I know the longer I would have lingered, the greater the chance I would be dragged back to Hogwarts, only under heavy guard and charms. The door sprang open at my touch, allowing me the chance to quickly move in and close it. As I thought, it wasn't much better in here, but at least the ground wasn't wet. I slide down and curl into myself, letting the thought of the last two hours come back. So much had changed in such a short time, but, for the better. I let my wand slid out of my sleeve, the wood warm underneath my fingers as I grip it.

'_If I want to truly leave, I know what I need to do.'_ I remember reading an odd book one night, after a particular horrid nightmare. I had found myself wondering the halls under my invisibility cloak until I reached the silent and darkened library. I wandered aimlessly, no title in mind when my fingers came across I legal tome for those trying to break free of all kinds of situations, mine being one of them. The easiest way of removing one's self from the wizarding world without losing my memories or being expelled, was this.

I quickly place my wand in both hand before pushing down, cracking the Holly wood in half, violent red sparks arcing out of the rod before they died, it being reduced to being a simple stick. Dropping the fractured pieces, I watch them as they roll away into separate areas of the shed. No more tracking me that way; besides, my magic reacts to my needs when I need it to, but I am no invalid like most of the wizarding world. I don't need magic to live my everyday life; no I can get by, thank you very much. I remember the satchel that Madam Pomfrey had given me, hoping she had packed a dreamless sleep potion. Quickly finding the dull pink vial, I down the contents & lean back against the door, my jacket wrapped tight around me before I drift off into a cold night's rest.

When I wake up, I can see the sun peeking in through the small window of the shed. Looking at my watch, I find it is half past nine in the morning. Uncle Vernon will be off by now and even better, Dudley will be at school. Aunt Petunia should be up with her morning tea, watching the telly while reading the local gossip column. Stiffly, I stand and dust off my clothes, seeing that nothing is out of place. Carefully I ease the door open, seeing no one in the park, blissfully. I close the shed and begin the five minute walk to the house, hood drawn up around my face; it is still January and is still _very_ cold, though not as bad as Scotland.

Walking down Private Drive with no one watching you was rare, but this was luckily one of those times. Making it to number 4, I am happy see that yes, Vernon is off to work and I can see Dudley's footprints walking off from the front step. Walking quickly up to the front step, I hesitate before opening the door; it blissfully unlocked. Warm air blasts my face, but is welcome as I close the door behind me and pull my hood down. I can hear the telly in the living room on, but I also hear my aunt in the kitchen with the kettle.

"Vernon, is that you? What did you forget?" Petunia's voice calls out.

I find myself frozen, not knowing what to do, but I know I need to say something.

"No." My voice is soft but it carries to the kitchen, where I hear the kettle drop and my aunt's footsteps head towards me.

"What are you doing he-" She stops in the doorway, eyes wide as she takes me in.

I know I still have massive bruising around my face and neck, but I did not think she would care about that. I know I have lost some weight in the past four days, having no appetite, but it can't have shown already right? I mean, I can't put weight on no matter what I do, so why would it show?

"What happened to you?" Her soft voice startles me, seeing what looked like concern in her eyes.

"I…" I try to respond, but fail to find the courage. Draco had told the twins and Neville for me, and Madam Pomfrey and the professors knew, but I had not said the words out loud or even internally.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm done with them, Aunt Petunia. I've left the world. I snapped my wand."

She drew in a breath, bringing my eyes to hers.

"Lily once told me that to do that is like signing a death warrant. You can't go back to that school of yours."

"That was the point; I don't want to go back."

"You are 12, what do you think you are going to do? Go back to primary school here, oh no. I do not think so."

I actually freeze at this. I hadn't thought that part out, but what was I going to do? I can't sit at home all day; we might actually kill one another. I would still do chores, but what else? I can't do yard work; it's the dead of winter.

"I'll figure it out Aunt Petunia. May I go to my room now? I'm very tired."

"Not until you tell me why are all black and blue."

I watch her carefully before I walk into the living room and drew the curtain close, stripping my jacket off. As I pull another article of clothing off, bruises are revealed to the light until I am standing there in my small clothes, my aunt is actually crying before telling me to dress again.

"Go lie down; I'm going to make a cup a tea."

I quietly make my way up to the second bedroom, opening the door to find the room dusty, but a surprise outside my window.

"Hedwig!" I cry out before rushing to the window, free of bars now, before letting in my first friend.

She gave a soft hoot before nibbling my fingers, not leaving my arm as I back away from the now closed window. I try to be happy before sadness overtakes me; I know what has to happen.

"I'm sorry girl, but you can't stay. Everyone knows you and it won't be safe for you to be here. Go to…go to Draco, ok? Let him know I am ok. He'll be good to you sweetheart."

If birds could glare, she would have but eventually she gave another gently nip before allowing me to reopen the window & fly out into the cold air. After again closing the window, I watch her until she disappears, leaning against the wall. She'll be safer away from me and this house & she's too noticeable; who ignores a snowy white owl with a pre-teen? I turn when the door opens and Petunia walks in, a tray with two cups of steaming tea balanced on her hand. She sees me standing by the window and frowns.

"Thought I told you to lie down." She says, looking at me while moving to the desk, setting down the tray before turning to me with one of the cups.

I look up at her, confused. But I gingerly take the cuppa, letting the warmth sink into my fingers. I move and sit on the bed, legs tucked underneath me while she carefully sits on the chair. I watch the steam rise and move from the tea, unsure as to when it would be taken from me, but my aunt dismisses my thoughts.

"Drink it before it gets cold, please. You will not waste my good earl gray."

Nodding, I sip the warm liquid, a small moan leaving me as the warmth travels through me.

"Now, I will talk to Vernon when he arrives home. You will stay up here until I say otherwise; no noises, just be silent and…and please rest."

"Yes Aunt Petunia." I reply, drinking the last of the tea.

She rose, took my cup, the tray and left the room, leaving me on the bed, still in my jacket. After a few minutes, I stood and pulled my trunk from my pocket and placed it on the floor. Kneeling down, I place two fingers on the lid and whisper

"_Agrandir_, o_uvrir_."

The trunk grew quickly and popped open, allowing me to pull the soft fleece throw from its depths and pajamas out. Stripping out of the jacket and transfigured clothing, I pull the pajamas on and wrap the throw around myself before closing the trunk and whispering

"_Rétrécir, proche._" With the trunk small again, I hide it in the nightstand before lying down on the bed, curling into a small ball, letting sleep take me again.

* * *

I wake up to voices talking loudly downstairs before heavy footsteps bolt me up.

"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia's voice is strained and yelled up after him.

But he doesn't stop, causing me to scramble up, grabbing my glasses and shoving them painfully onto my nose just as my door bursts open. My uncle is just as large as when I last saw him in September; just as puce and just as terrifying.

"So, you think you can just come back, like you belong here?"

He advances and grabs my arm, ignoring my screech or the massive lurch I try to take away from him. He pulls me until I'm within inches of his face. His beady brown eyes are looking over my bruises and he seems to approve of the damage.

"Good, someone finally taught you a lesson. You will not be saying. I will be taking you to London, where I will throw you to the nearest detention center that will take you; no questions asked. Now, get up and fix dinner."

He drops me and leaves the room, ignoring my sobs of pain and fright. My eyes close as I try to even out my heartbeat and stop the shakes. When he yells up the stairs, I jump off the bed and race down the steps and into to the kitchen. I don't pay attention to what I'm making nor when I'm serving it. I wash all the pans before I escape back to my room, closing the door and sliding down until I meet the floor.

'_I shouldn't have come back.'_

I wrap my arms around my knees, ignoring the pulsing pain from the arm Vernon grabbed. It was like I never left last year; nothing has changed about my role in my uncle's eyes. One jail cell to another, just great. I finally stand after an hour on the floor to the bed, sitting on the edge. I look down at the pajamas I'm still wearing before deciding to be ready to run; I enlarge the trunk and find the cleanest pair of trouser and the warmest long sleeve I can find before pulling my trainers on again, lacing up the years-old items. I debate on sleeping in my jacket; I know if Vernon sees the expensive item, he would destroy it, so I shove into my trunk again. Shrinking the trunk, I place it my pocket before lying down under the throw, letting my eyes droop close, watching the moon light shadows dance before sleep takes me.

* * *

Vernon's heavy footsteps wake me before he could; allowing me time to sit up and compose myself before he unlocks the door, _'when did he lock them yesterday?'_, and swings it open. He only glares at me before motioning for me to stand up and follow. Glancing down at the throw, I sadly drop it and follow him out of number 4 Private Drive into his vehicle. I sit as close as I can to the door the whole trip, always an eye on him, trying to form a plan in my mind. The two hour drive to London is in silence, made only worse by Vernon grunting every time he looks at me; that is never a good thing. I was never good with car rides, they always made me dizzy and tired, but I force my mind to concentrate the whole trip. I'm acutely aware of my uncle's every move, every shift, and every change in his breathing.

We arrive in light London traffic, a fog in the mid-morning streets. We drive for another five minutes before Vernon parks and pulls me out of his side of the car. I try to hold back the cry as he grips his favorite arm apparently, but I can't, drawing attention to myself & Vernon. I don't see a group of men watch us and neither does my uncle, who starts to berate me in a low voice, neck turning red.

"You do anything, I will kill you." He hisses.

I somehow pull my arm out of his grip and back up, shaking. My eyes are darting around, trying to find the best route to run while Vernon was advancing again. I felt a presence behind me, but instead of fear, a great sense of calm over takes me when my back meets another form and Vernon freezes in place. I tilted my head back to see a tall man with short, curly black hair behind me, a shorter man with sandy blond hair next to him, another man with very short brown hair leaning on an umbrella next to him and finally, the last man with salt and pepper hair standing behind the first. The aura around these men is fascinating and despite everything that had happened in the past five days, I felt…_safe_? I wasn't sure, but the man behind me was glaring very harshly at my uncle, making him a…good guy?

He suddenly looks down and slate/blue eyes stare into mine, as if he was looking at my soul. He frowns and returns his glare to my uncle.

"What sort of man abuses a young girl?" His voice was a soft, low tone, but it seems to cut into Vernon.

The salt & pepper man moved forwards quickly and kneels in front of me while the others continue on.

"A right bloody coward, that's who." The blonde responded, his fingers gripped in a tight fist.

The other man is quiet but his own fingers are twitching on his umbrella handle. But my focus is on the man kneeling in my face.

"Hello sweetheart, my name is detective inspector Greg Lestrade; I am from Scotland Yard. Now, all you need to do is tell me you don't want to be near that man and I will make it happen. Is he abusing you?" DI Lestrade's voice is soft, his brown eyes watching me carefully.

"I…" My voice cracks, the last two days coming back to me in force. "Yes." I whisper this, eyes instantly shooting up to my uncle, whose face was bright red and suddenly inches from mine.

He wraps his meaty hands on my wrists and pulls me forward, spitting in my face, but before he can yell, two hands crack down on his wrists, forcing him to release mine, causing me to fall back, into arms cradling me.

"No, no let go!" I cry out, panic welling up again.

"Shhhh, it's alright."

That man's voice again. He talks very low as he kneels down, allowing my feet to touch the ground but not move from his arms. He is also whispering to the blonde man because the salt & pepper man had subdued Vernon while calling for back up, the umbrella man on what looked like a mobile a few feet away.

"What's your name, little one?" It was the blonde this time, his blue eyes watching me.

I look back and forth between the pair. "Stella." My voice was low, shaking violently.

"Pleasure to meet you, my name is John and this is Sherlock. Stella, I know you're scared, but you're safe now. He can't hurt you anymore, ok?" The man, John, whispered.

Before I could reply, my eyes rolled up and I blacked out, my last moment wrapped in warm arms.

A/N: oh my, so much love. So here is the deal, I was not expecting this past bit to take this many chapters, but my fingers are flying and all the emails I get concerning this story makes me write more. So thanks to all who have favorited and follow this and those who have reviewed. I love all of you.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hello all! This is my first adventure into a crossover story. I REALLY hope you like it. I would love your opinions, reviews, thoughts, what you like, what you didn't.

-Summary: 13 years of pain, suffering, & a wish for death is suddenly taken away when a man with slate/blue eyes gently grabs my wrist and just gives me a smirk.

-Story revolves mostly in normal London, with some mentions of the WW, maybe an 'adventure' to it later on. fem!harry, nonromantic john/sherlock, differentish Mycroft (to a point) and Greg just being Greg.

Ok, finally some Sherlock/John action…ok that came out wrong. Also, I wish I had Mycroft for an uncle.

* * *

_John's POV_

It was strange to see Sherlock acting with kindness towards anyone; but if it was going to happen, it would with an abused little girl. She was a tiny thing, looking only around ten-years-old; her hair was almost as long as her. The jet black locks were slightly fussed up, but didn't hide the bruised and battered pale skin that was shown. Looking over at the whale of man, I can barely contain the rage building; child abusers were the worst sort.

Movement brings my eyes back to Sherlock and Stella, the latter passed out in his arms, which were wrapped securely around her small form, fingers rubbing small circles on her back, trying to ease the shivers raking her body. I can see his eyes moving from her to the obese man several times before Sherlock walks towards his brother, beginning a whispered conversation. Willingly talking with Mycroft? What is this world coming to? I see Greg's back up arrive, to whom he explained everything too, causing the responding officers to stiffen before dragging the man into the car, their body language not good for the prisoner.

A sleek black car pulls up behind me and Mycroft's assistant opens the door, standing by the car, her eyes & fingers on the Blackberry that seemed to run Mycroft's world. I see Sherlock move towards the car, Stella now curled into his chest; her face was buried into his scarf, obscuring a chance to see if she was still out of it. After a look from Mycroft, I slid in after my flat mate, surprised to hear him whispering into her ear. When Mycroft and Athena slide in and close the door, the car takes off, Sherlock still watching the small girl in his arms.

_Normal POV_

When I come to, I'm actually really warm for the first time in a very long time. But I freeze when I realize there are fingers on my head which is cradled on a lap; the fingers are gently carding through my hair. I can hear voices a few feet from me; they sound like those men from earlier. Most of my hair is over my eyes, allowing me to open them partially to find a soft red carpet below me in low, soft lighting. Someone stands suddenly, knocking a chair back, which hits the carpet with a soft thump.

"I will not allow you to just throw her into a hospital in the middle of strange city, Mycroft! It is obvious she is abused and has been attack recently; why would you stick her in an environment where she knows absolutely no one and can't escape from, seeing as she is underage?" That sounds like that blonde man, John? Yes, that was the name.

I somehow stop myself from reacting when another voice, this one female, sounds from above me. "Boys, do keep your voices down. You will wake her and frighten the poor thing."

"Forgive me mummy, but she is awake already, although she doesn't know what to do." It was his voice again.

Quiet footsteps bring a pair of soft black shoes near me before the man kneels down until his knees touch the carpet. I can't hold back the flinch as fingers push the fringe of my hair back, bringing slate/blue eyes into mine. Sherlock: that is what John called him. He gives me a small, soft smile before he whispers

"Welcome back, little one. Gave yourself a fright, didn't you?"

I don't answer, but sit up quickly, drawing the warm throw closer to me, taking in the room. I see John standing near a desk, the man with brown hair sitting behind it; that must be the Mycroft man John was talking to. Sherlock is still kneeling down next to the sofa, watching me. Movement next to me as me causes me to whip my head to the direction of the woman who had been cradling my head in her lap just moments before. She was very beautiful; tall, like Sherlock, with silver lined black hair that was drawn into a bun at the nape of her neck and eyes so similar to Sherlock's. Those eyes were locked with mine before she smiled and extended her hand, ignoring my flinch as she took mine in hers.

"My dear girl, you are safe here. No one will harm you, I swear." Her tone was gentle, calming me.

But I've heard that before; is that not what McGonagall said to the first years as they stood on the steps inside the Great Hall? Yet the worst damage happened within the walls of the old stone castle. I can feel the tears building again as my mind races, memories coming forward despite my best efforts to shove them away. Yet, a gentle touch on my cheek sends the thoughts away, bringing my eyes into Sherlock's again.

"Stop that." His deep voice cuts through the panic building in my mind.

Suddenly, my arms are wrapped around his neck, the tears now falling as I sob, a sense that I was finally safe overwhelming the fear that had been plaguing me the past week. His arms wrap around me and he stands with my legs around his waist. He is whispering in my ear, but I don't pay attention to what he is saying, although I do notice when he starts speaking to Mycroft again.

"I do not care what it takes; get me custody of her Mycroft."

"She can't be in Baker Street before that, brother."

"She can stay in my guest room here with me, Sherlock. She needs to be seen by a doctor and we all know a hospital is out of the question. Besides, this will give me a chance to bond with my first grandchild."

"Yes mummy, wonderful plan." Sherlock's voice vibrated through my head as I calmed myself down. "Are you ok with that, Stella?"

I lift my head to find him looking down at me, his face angled so our eyes were locked. A doctor would find all the scars and would… they would know what happened. Panic again grips my heart before Sherlock gently kisses my forehead, right over my scar. I nod before curling into his neck, eyes watching everyone around me. John gives me a sad smile before turning to the woman, '_Sherlock's mother?_', and gives a small nod before turning and leaving the room.

"Ok poppet, we're going to go to your temporary quarters, all right? You won't be here long, but be good for mummy, won't you?"

"Yes sir." My voice cracks as I answer, but I feel him stiffen.

"No sir with me, little one. You can call me Sherlock; in fact I want you to."

I only nod, bringing a small smirk to his lips before he starts walking, his mother besides him. My eyelids start feeling heavy again, but I hold out until we walk into a new room. The walls are a deep brown while the floor was hardwood; it appeared to be a sitting room with three doors going off of it.

"There is a spare room through here, Sherlock."

He follows the woman through the side door, a largely undecorated room with a large twin four poster bed in the middle. Sherlock moves until he is at the edge of the bed, letting me drop onto the soft comforter. I'm shivering again, the cold seeping in again after leaving the previous room, prompting me to pull the cover over my feet. He lingers for a moment before leaning forward, stopping when I can't stop the flinch that is produced.

'_I'm sorry, I'm still so scared.'_ I feel horrible; this man had done nothing but help me and I still doubt him.

He seems to sense my thoughts, but only nods before standing back up.

"When you are hungry, let mummy know. For now, I want you to rest. I'm sure Mycroft will have the physician in come the morning; we'll figure out what to do then."

Again, I only nod before pushing my trainers off and slide under the covers, glasses on the night stand. I feel like the bed could swallow me in one gulp; but it is softer than even the ones at school. I let myself drop into sleep, not seeing the pair of similar eyes watching me.

* * *

There is nothing like waking from a nightmare, screams held back in my throat, into an environment that I can't recognize. My heart is beating so hard I can feel it on my chest wall and my face is wet with tears. Combination nightmares were the worst; combining memories and perverting them further. The comforter is too tight, too close, I need air. I quickly free myself from the bed, & shove my glasses on, but the cold seeps in from the floor. No, I don't want to go back in the bed; I know I won't sleep again for a long time. I wrap my arms around my waist, avoiding the bruises before quietly walking out of the room, not seeing Sherlock's mother, assuming she was asleep. The outside of the door is unlocked, allowing me to slip out, counting the doors as I went.

'…_four…five…six…seven, here it is.'_ I'm outside the room from earlier and it is unlocked as well. Slowly opening the door, I see what I'm looking for: the fireplace, thankfully still lit. I move forward, grabbing a hold of the throw still on the couch before moving to mantle. Wrapping the throw around my shoulder, I sit close to the red/orange flames, taking in the blessed warmth it was offering. Whenever I had a particularly terrifying nightmare back at school, I always found that the fireplace in the common room calmed me.

The quiet of the room let's my mind start processing all the information that it has been hit with since staring Vernon down…last night? Has it been only that short amount of time? Strangers had done more for me that all my primary teachers, neighbors, or professors had ever done for me in less than 24 hours. Hell, one was willing to take me in, without knowing my past, without knowing who I really am.

'_Do people like him really exist?'_ I let this question float away as I flex my now warm appendages, letting the digits pull the edges of the throw back from my arms. The bruises looked sicklier in the fire light, more fresh. '_How did it ever come to this? The wizarding world was supposed to be different, but I go from being a freak in the normal world to a freak in the magical one. How is an eleven-year-old supposed to comprehend what they threw at me? Then this year, everyone just assumes I'm behind the bloody attacks on everyone? Why? Because I didn't like that Creevey was stalking me with that blasted camera everywhere? Because I decided that I wouldn't let house lines keep me from trying to make peace with the Slytherins?'_

"I didn't want any of this. I just wanted a home, is that too much?" I ask in a whisper, eyes lit up with unshed tears again. I was not expecting an answer.

"It is never wrong to wish for a safe place, my dear."

I jump, turning to find Mycroft behind me, in what must be casual clothes for him: brown slacks with his white button down shirt un-tucked. He sits down near to me, facing me the whole time. He looks different out of the suit; not as intimidating, but not weak. He gives me a small smile before turning to stoke the fire, embers crawling up the chimney.

"I'm sorry sir; I shouldn't have come in here without permission." I say in a small voice, curling into myself again.

His fingers catch my hand before it can slip back under the throw, bringing my eyes into his. '_Blue/slate, alike but dissimilar to Sherlock.'_

"My dear, what did I just say?"

I don't answer, just watch his eyes.

"Does being around the fire make you feel safe?"

"It's warm."

"Do you get cold often?"

"I can't stay warm."

He doesn't reply right away, his eyes far away for a moment. "The fire gives you comfort. It is never wrong to try and find a bit of peace. I'm not upset you came in here by yourself; I only wonder why now, when you should be sleeping."

"Bad dream." I mumble, turning away.

He makes a small noise to himself before standing, returning to his desk. I can hear cups lightly clinking before footsteps bring him back, pushing a steaming cuppa in my hands. He again sits next to me, his back against the ottoman so he could look straight at me.

"I'm sorry sir; I didn't mean to keep you from your work."

But he waved it off, taking a sip from his tea. "I would rather hear about this dream of yours."

"Too many bad things there, sir." I whisper, watching the steam rise from the cup.

"My dear girl-"

I almost burn myself with the tea from the flinch that rocks me at those words. That old, wrinkled bastard's voice never left me, always trying to guilt me into becoming his little tool. I head Mycroft move again and look to see him watching me.

"There's a story there, why don't you tell me?"

It takes only a moment before I open my mouth, "Do you believe in magic, sir?"

"Why don't you convince me?"

So I did.

* * *

I spent most of the night talking, pulling my trunk from my trouser pocket and enlarging it for proof, until I found myself leaning against him, already half asleep. He was currently reading my History of Magic book, asking questions every now and then, some of which I could answer, most I couldn't. He was warm and smelt like lemon & mint, a calming scent if I ever did inhale one. Sherlock had similar scent of pine and rain, reminding me of one my…'adventures' in the Forbidden Forest.

In the back of my mind, a voice was saying that I shouldn't trust these people, that I shouldn't be comfortable with them. A week ago, I was fine…ok mostly fine, with people touching me. These people only wanted to help me and they've only know me for 12 hours. After twelve years, no one with the ability to do so every helped when I needed them. I shut the voice away and curl into Mycroft, letting sleep fully take me as he reads select parts out loud, something about the wizarding judges and law makers.

When I wake again, I'm still curled up by the now dead fireplace, pillows from the lounge under my head, wrapped in the throw. For the first time in a very long time, I slept with no nightmares; I cannot recall when that last happened. The sounds around me slowly filtered through: the traffic outside, the gentle hum of the heating, and the sound of pen on paper, from somewhere behind me. Despite being on the floor, I have never been so comfortable in my life; I wish I didn't have to get up, but my limbs are stiff and the bruises re announce themselves as I re-adjust.

"The physician will be here in an hours' time, my dear. You may want to refresh yourself and change before that."

I sit up at his voice, turning to find him at his desk; he himself changed into a gray three piece suit and what looked like a light breakfast next to a pile of work. I only nod before standing, replacing the pillows and throw on the lounge as I do so. When I face him, he gives me small smile before turning back to…was that my charms book? Oh, there was my transfiguration book as well, in fact, most of my first year books were on his desk, all with different bookmarks.

"I had some knowledge of your world before last night, but only enough to keep this world safe from that one. I had no idea that it was this complicated. Your books are most fascinating, forgive me, I helped myself." He says all this without looking up at me.

I quickly locate my open trunk with some panic, kneeling in front of it.

"I did not look at anything but your school texts."

"Thank you, sir."

I close the lid and whisper the counter password and the trunk shrinks, allowing me to pick it up and stand.

"Sir? Thank you."

Again, he waves my words off, but looks up at me. "It was my pleasure my dear. Now, please go refresh yourself. I'm afraid that I will not let you avoid the doctor."

I simply nod before leaving his study, passing his pretty assistant on the way out, who gave me a small smile, before an "Athena." called her into the same room, the door clicking close behind me. When I walk back into my, '_what was it that Sherlock called it?_', oh my temporary quarters, she was there, looking frantic.

"Oh my dear sweet child, where have you been? I've been worried."

"I'm sorry, madam."

"Oh no, my dearest, you don't have to be so formal with me. I'm going to be your grandmother."

"I don't know what else to say."

"Call me nan, if you wish then. I am anybody but madam."

"Yes miss. I need to shower."

Her smile dropped a little before she recovered. "Of course love. It's attached to your bedroom, right next to the wardrobe."

Nodding, I move into the room and quietly close the door, leaning against it. The room again seems to swallow me, I know I am small for my age, but I feel like Professor Flitwick at times. Seeing the door next to the dark wardrobe, I make my way into the bathroom, pulling of articles of clothing as I did so. My trousers were torn only the hemline from where Vernon had dragged me out of the car, but the rest of my clothes were thankfully still intact. Regardless, I lay my trunk on the floor near the door, unshrinking it before walking on the cold flooring.

I don't linger, used to being rushed through my routine by the Dursleys and the girls in the dorms. My hair always took the longest; I hate its length, but whenever I try to shorten it, I always wake up with it back to the same length. The bruises from a week ago have faded into green/yellow splotches, making the pale form underneath show up dramatically. I am not looking forward to the physician seeing the marks and scars from years past.

'_What if Sherlock decides I'm not worth the time? He seems like a busy man, why would he want an annoying little freak bothering him?'_

"Stella? The doctor is here."

I jump at her voice, the echo reverberating around the small room.

"Ok." That's all I can get out, my voice already shaking along with my hands. I can feel the panic building.

My getting dressed is hazy, throwing on loose bits of clothing. But, I don't go out into the other room; I sit in the middle of the bed, knees drawn up my chest, tears running down my face. I don't want another person to see my scars, to see my shame, to see the marks from Vernon and those ogres. I don't want another person confirming that I'm broken, that I am worthless and should just be thrown out on the streets, like Aunt Marge suggested multiple times. I hear the door open, but I just ignore it. I can't find the strength to look up and see another face ready to reject me. The bed dips before the person settles, fingers soon pulling my chin up. Sherlock is watching me carefully, aware of the violent shivers raking my body and the tear streaking down my cheeks. He only scoffs gently before pulling me into his arms, resting his chin on my head.

"Never let your fears overtake your mind, poppet. You'll learn that once something is mine, I don't give it up."

This causes me to pull back, eyes wide. '_What? Is he serious?'_ He only gives me a nod before sliding off the bed, pulling me along beside him. He doesn't remove his arm wrapped around my shoulders as he directs me to the sitting room. I see Nan & Mycroft talking with another woman with short blonde hair; this must be the physician. She turns when we enter, her brown eyes already assessing me.

"Hi there Stella, my name is Dr. Julia McNamera. I'm going to take care of you, is that alright?" Her voice is coming out at a slow pace, as if she is talking to an imbecile.

I don't know how to respond, but I can see Sherlock looking at the woman with open distain before answering for me.

"She's hurt, not an idiot."

Julia looked taken aback for a moment before recovering. "I was informed that the patient has been abused in the past, Mr. Holmes, and I didn't want to startle her."

"The patient is right here and can hear everyone you are spilling out of your idiotic mouth. I do not believe she would like to be taken for a fool, doctor." The gentle tone of his voice was gone, ice on every word directed towards the woman, though his arm was holding me closer, almost pushing me behind him. I grip the edge of this coat before deciding to defuse the situation before it could implode.

"Nice to meet you, doctor." After all the semi-yelling, my voice cuts through, drawing the woman's eyes to me again. But I'm not looking at her as I look around the room, not seeing John; I don't know if he was supposed to be here or not.

"He's at the flat; apparently it's barely even tolerable for the two of us to live there at the moment, so it needs upgraded to accommodate all three of us. He is also explaining everything to our land lady, Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock whispered this in my ear, without me having asked. '_Does he always do this?'. _Before he could say anything further, Julia draws my attention back to her.

"I would like you to have a seat here, if you would. Then we can begin; as I was explaining before, I understand there is some history with ab-"

I cut her off, surprising myself at the rude interruption. "Abuse? You don't know the half of it; the marks are from an attack that occurred a week ago at my school. The headmaster did nothing to punish the boys involved, so I removed myself from the environment, with some help."

I again surprise myself, this time from the lack of stuttering, but I can't stop shaking and I'm cold! Moving to the lounge, I pull the nearest throw over me, leaving my neck & head exposed.

"That is something I wanted you to look into, Dr. McNamera. She is more than likely highly anemic from the apparent lack of temperature control in her body. She will need to diet plan to put weight on; she can't be more than 36 kilograms." Mycroft said, leading the conversation.

"Agreed, she is small for her apparent age. My dear how old _are_ you and what are your eating habits like?"

"I'm twelve and I guess I eat when I can or remember to. I always get sick when I eat too much too soon. I only ate when I was allowed to before." I answer quietly.

I see Sherlock's mouth tighten suddenly at my words, but he doesn't say anything. It's Mycroft who speaks next.

"When is the last time you ate, my dear?"

I opened my mouth to give my automated response, but I knew _oh last night_ wouldn't be believed. I don't recall eating much of anything while in the infirmary and Vernon left me no chance to eat anything while I was there, so that would mean

"…four days ago? Maybe five, maybe even six. I don't know."

Julia's eyes were wide before standing, fast talking with Mycroft and Sherlock about an extensive dietary plan that would need to be implemented. Nan moved across the room and sat down next to me, holding my hand in hers. She doesn't speak, just pulls me to her side while I watch the others make plans. After ten minutes, my exam re-starts and lasts another hour and a half, Sherlock actually pulling Julia back when I couldn't contain my reaction when she prodded a bruise on my abdomen harder then I think she meant to. When she finished, Julia had a grim expression covering her face, again turning to Mycroft, this time speaking in quiet tones. Sherlock had replaced Nan's position at this point, my form cradled into his side, his fingers carding through my hair. After a moment, Dr. McNamera leaves with a pile of notes in her hands while Mycroft and Nan turn to me.

"I know you most likely don't feel hungry, but we are going to start you with very small portions throughout the day to start building up a tolerance. Not eating for six days is…unsafe, no matter how much you are used to such schedules, my dear." Mycroft explains, moving to stand in front of me.

I nod, knowing it wasn't healthy. "I tried to do something like that at school, sir, but I only ended up throwing up what I took in."

"You had no one to guide you, unlike now. But, we need to get you a new wardrobe. I think a day out with John and mummy would be adventurous, right Stella?" Sherlock asks me this all while I am still curled into his side, so he doesn't see my eyes go wide.

"I…I don't…I don't need…new…"

"Nonsense darling. You have maybe one or two nice things, but most of the other clothing you have is either school uniforms or hand-me-downs from someone rather larger than you." Nan replied.

But I keep shaking my head, the tremors reappearing in my hands.

"Hmmm, best keep that until after you're settled into Baker Street I would think."

Sherlock's words put his own idea down, but he didn't push me away, only continued to let his fingers lull me in a soft sleep, my head tucked into his shoulders.

* * *

The follow two weeks were spent in Mycroft's townhouse/ private office, activities varying from appointments with Dr. McNamera or the dietician, small tutoring with Nan, who wanted to know where I stood in my primary education, since my actual learning had been stunted a bit from Hogwarts. Apparently, she and Sherlock had been informed by Mycroft of my…previous world, much to my horror. I thought this would surely drive me out the door; but it only seemed to fuel Sherlock, who then spent the majority of the time he was at Mycroft's house with me in his lap, back flush against his chest while he poured over all my school books, minus the Lockhart books, which I had left out of my trunk separately on purpose. He had his face next to mine, asking a million and two questions about every aspect I could explain, his long fingers deftly holding two books at once while I left my magic out, trying to show him what I could without the guidance of a wand. John would be over, talking about everything else that Sherlock didn't cover, meaning everything other than magic and my personal health, although John touched on that too. In the span of the two weeks, I found myself calling these people my family in my mind, something I never thought I would truly have.

Then one day, while Sherlock was watching me go through the process of producing a levitation charm, for what must be the twentieth time, Mycroft walked in with an official stack of paper that had his brother freezing.

"I do hope Baker Street is ready, brother."

I knew what that meant; I would be going home with Sherlock today, within the hour if he had his way. A small nod from Mycroft had me gathering all my books from the coffee table and racing to my room, throwing them and any other item that had made their way out of my trunk back into it. Satisfied that everything was back in it, I shrink the trunk and place in my coat pocket, once I dawn the warm item. I fast walk back Mycroft's study, seeing Sherlock ready as well, mobile in hand, meaning he was texting John. As we leave, Mycroft hands me my own mobile, the smooth black item cool in my hands. Two weeks of being on an insane dose of iron pills and vitamin b-12 had finally started working, letting me enjoy the environment around me without freezing my hands and fingers off. I had to admit, that once it was explained to me why being anemic made me so fatigued and cold all the time, I was more than happy to take the large doses of pills.

"If anything goes wrong and you can't contact Sherlock or John, I want you to text me with the code word: salutem. That's all you need to do and I'll find you."

I nod quickly, giving him a quick hug before turning back to Sherlock, who was watching me closely. He grabs my hand when I'm in reach and picks me up, settling me on his hip as he walks down the several flights of stairs until we get to the front door, where he sets me on my feet before holding my hand again. When we walk out the door, we walk into a light snow fall to Mycroft's waiting car. After a thirty minute drive, we arrive and Sherlock steps out before me, scans the area before he lets me slide out after him. He walks quickly into the building in front of us, before placing his hands on my shoulders.

"Welcome, Miss Stella Potter, to 221 B Baker Street."

* * *

A/N: oh my god, 11 pages. And this chapter took the better part of three days to write. It's also ones like these that make me wish I had any drawing skills, because every major scene starts off as a picture in my head; I just WISH I could put those to paper. Like I would love the world to see when Sherlock is first holding Stella on the street or how Mycroft is comforting her by the fire, & oh, the part with Sherlock pouring over her magic textbooks with her on his lap. I have the WHOLE image in my head, but alas, I do believe a fifth grader would have better skills at drawing then me.

OK. So we have covered the journey from Hogwarts to 221 B. lots more detailed then I thought it would be. I may take a small break, don't want to run out of steam too quickly; but again, reviews are my bread and butter. I LIVE to know your thoughts, opinions, likes, dislikes, and theories. Feed Me!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello all! This is my first adventure into a crossover story. I REALLY hope you like it, I have been working this for about a month. I would love your opinions, reviews, thoughts, what you like, what you didn't.

-Summary: 13 years of pain, suffering, & a wish for death is suddenly taken away when a man with slate/blue eyes gently grabs my wrist and just gives me a smirk.

-Story revolves mostly in normal London, with some mentions of the WW, maybe an 'adventure' to it later on. fem!harry, nonromantic john/sherlock, differentish Mycroft (to a point) and Greg just being Greg.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters. Duh. That is all I will say.

A/N: YOU GUYS! You just don't understand what the reviews and emails do for me. I'm not always the happiest person, but every notification brightens my day just a little bit more.

BUT, it is now time for current events. Back to the present. Time to see who's come to visit.

* * *

"Ms. Potter, how…delightful to see you unharmed."

Oh my, well here is one person I thought I would never see again, let alone in my dads' flat. Looking as posh and as stuck up as when I last saw him; why was he here?

"I cannot recall you ever being blind, Mr. Malfoy." I respond, slipping off dad's lap, who stood after me. I can feel his body tensing at the unknown man, & I can only guess the speed in which he was already dissecting him in his mind palace.

Lucius Malfoy, in all his blonde glory, stood in the doorway, his _best_ robes looking quite out of place next to da in his brown jumper and gray slacks. His trademark cane was propping him up; actually, that pose reminded me of uncle Mycroft. Oh I just _know_ that little tidbit would irritate the wealthy aristocrat.

With a raised brow, Lucius responded. "Well, it seems three years in the muggle world have only made you crasser, Ms. Potter."

"Holmes. Her name is Ms. Holmes."

Dad's voice was stiff; this meant he had not finished breaking down the man in front of him.

Lucius' eyes locked on him and narrowed. "I do not believe I was talking to you, filthy mug-"

"Take care in how you speak to my father, Mr. Malfoy." I find my own voice tight, both from trying to stop it from cracking & checked anger.

Malfoy hesitated a moment before inclining his head. "My apologizes, Ms. Holmes. Never meant to offend the muggle."

Really, pulling out the first year insults; very classy Lucius.

"Let's not waste time; why are you here? I told Lady Malfoy to tell you I was done with the wizarding world." Not letting dad respond in anyway; nope, not opening that Pandora's Box.

"But the wizarding world is not done with you, Ms. Holmes."

"The hell it isn't!" Da's voice is checked, not wanting to alert Mrs. Hudson.

'_I wonder how long it will take before he is back.'_ This passes through my mind as I spy the spot of the latest bug; I can see dad looking too, sharing a wink with me.

"Regardless of her circumstances of leaving, she still has responsibilities to attend to. She is the last of the Potter family; as such, she needs to run the-"

"The hell I do, you arrogant prick. What part of 'I'm done' do you not understand? The goblins know that when I am of age, my inheritance with come to me, here. As it is my right to do what I want to with the blood money of my parents dying. Is this what all those bleeding letters from Fudge are about? Because he is not supposed to contact me in any way!" Ah there's da's attitude coming through. Just because I am a Holmes on paper doesn't mean I'm not a Watson as well.

"Him, nor anyone involved in any way with the wizarding government, Mr. Malfoy." Uncle Mycroft's voice was cold, his eyes locked onto the blonde.

If there is one thing I can count on, it's my uncle out sneering Lucius Malfoy. There is a reason why my uncle is called 'The Iceman' by his opponents and enemies. I can see Lucius' shoulders stiffen as he turned and faced my uncle, but an item in his fingers draws my attention; an envelope with my name written in several scrawls I recognized. I dart forward and grab the letter, eyes taking in my name written by people I thought I wouldn't hear from again.

"Stella, that was rude."

"Sorry Da, but I couldn't help it; why should I? He's the one holding a letter written by his son and my friends for me." I say all this while tearing into item, pulling out three letters and a pile of photos. There I go again, channeling dad.

Said man is looking over my shoulder, both of us taking in the images of the trio, three years older. The twins were standing arm in arm in front of what looked like….no, oh don't tell me they actually opened their joke shop? I wonder how Molly feels about that. Several more of them waving at the camera, pranking their customers and brothers. Then, another face…wait…is that….

"Neville?!" '_Well damn.'_ Puberty did good things for him. Filled out his baby fat, that's for sure. Oh, well there's classic Neville; surrounded by his plants in what looked like Greenhouse Five. '_Must be in advanced Herbology, no surprise there.'_ Oh, well looks like Luna wormed her way into the group. There are several pictures of my favorite little Ravenclaw with the twins, Neville and…and Draco. Who looked more like his mother now, his hair still short but his eyes were softer. One picture, he was holding up a sign…what does it say? Oh, well that little… 'Stop staring, Potter.' Funny Malfoy, real funny. I wonder if they knew I had been thinking about them a lot more recently, knowing I would be of legal age in that world in a few months. Is that why they were writing, now? After three years?

"Well, open them." Dad's whisper brings me from my thoughts, but I slip the letters into my pocket before turning my attention back to the elder Malfoy.

"Why are you really here?"

"Your efforts are needed in the war."

"No." Three voices, none of them mine, sounded in the flat.

Lucius glared them, mostly dad, who had a very scary grin on his face. "What are you grinning at, muggle?"

'_Well, you're in for it now.'_ I did try to prevent this, but if the blonde man wants to open the dammed box, then _allons-y. _

Dad stepped out from behind me, his fingers laced up behind his back. "Age: 41, bad knees, hence the need for the cane no matter what you may think, thinks himself so proud, yet frequently bowing to your betters, arraigned marriage, don't actually like your wife…or any women at that, but never acted on this, you try to pull the strings of the government from the shadows for this Riddle character, but only manage a few laws here and there, as the minister is stubborn to anyone, even you, and judging by the look in your eyes, if you could even attempt it, you would murder us and bring Stella in yourself. But even without a wand and no training for the past three years, you know she could trounce you."

He takes a small breath, watching Lucius before finishing, "Did I miss anything?"

"Bad back, after taking on a house elf and losing, ending up down a flight of stairs." I reply, smirking at the memory.

Dad gives me a look, '_you'll have to share that one later.'_ But he turns back to Malfoy, who is glaring so _fiercely_ at him, I didn't have to guess the first spell he would use if he could. But the elder Malfoy reigned in his rage before turning to me again.

"You are needed in this war, Ms. Holmes, wither you like it or not."

"I snapped my wand, I broke my contract and thus, purged any responsibilities you think you can try and shove onto me. Don't think I don't know that you managed to bring Voldemort back, I even know how, no don't ask me how we know just that we do. The minute you step into MY world and start messing with it, I will get involved and stop it, but not before. Nor will I help any side, light or dark. Tell your master, I do not care what drew our paths to each other all those years ago, I diverted from that path long ago and found a better one; when I was attacked in school & the people who were supposed to protect me failed and left me to hang, I knew I didn't belong. All anyone wanted was a solider, not a child new to the wonders around her. Tell Voldemort: stay away & So. Will. I." By the end, I'm rigged, standing tall at 5'11, my eyes burning into the other man.

I can see my uncle smirking while da was shaking his head, muttering to himself. I can't hear him, but I know he is conflicted about something. Dad on the other hand, was holding in his laughter, his shoulders shaking, but his eyes were lit up with pride, hand tight on my shoulder.

Lucius was still for a few moments before he composed himself. "Very well, Ms. Holmes. I shall relay the messages, but do not think this will stop the ministry."

"Very well. Have them contact Mycroft Holmes from now on, as you will do from now on; no more late night visits to my home. He will decide if I need to intervene at all, seeing as it would affect the health of Queen and Country."

I barely hold in the laughter that threatens me when Lucius's eye twitches at the thought of having to deal with my uncle in the future. He stiffly nods and leaves the flat, glaring at anything in front of him. The minute he is out of the flat, I hear him apparate and I let out a painful breath, leaning into dad, who guides me to da's chair.

"Just what we need, a mini Mycroft." Da's voice is light as he kisses my temple, pushing some over the counter pain relief in my hands, but I don't even attempt to take them.

"How'd I do, uncle Mycroft?"

Again, he gives me a smirk, this time though, his eyes are sparking. "A niece after my own heart. I'll call you when Athena can't be there." High praise from him, that is for sure. He wouldn't replace that woman for anyone.

"Time for bed. I'm thinking you need a few days off of school, don't you?" Da says, pulling me up to his side before turning towards the stair.

He walks me up, leaving the brothers alone before dad starts talking quietly with uncle Mycroft. Da's arm is tight around my shoulder while the other is gripping the closest hand; he didn't have to convey the stress the day had place over him, I could just tell.

"I'm sorry daddy." I whisper when we reach the second landing.

"Oh hush love, you did nothing wrong. I shouldn't condone fighting, but in this case, it was warranted. I would love to see this girl's father try and get her out of it; between the four of us, I would love to see him try." He replies, kissing my forehead before pushing into my room and onto my bed before plugging in the string lights lining my room and turning off the light.

The lights were my favorite part of my whole room at night: twenty feet of TARDIS lights were trailed around my room, a birthday gift my first year in the flat, after dad had gotten me hooked onto Doctor Who. I adore the science fiction show; it was one of many things that he used to help distract me from my many nightmares that woke me up constantly; it was never hard to find him downstairs, working on cases, his experiments or his music pieces when I needed him at two am. He was watching the telly one night, a man running from pepper pots with plungers and whisks attached to them, the most intense look on his face. When he realized I was up again, he simple pulled me into his lap, explaining what he was watching and the premise behind it; apparently he had been watching it since he was a child. Once he realized that I was fascinated by the program, he came home the next day with as many DVDs as he could carry and we had a marathon; that is, until da refused to move from in front of the telly until we both ate and slept.

I crawled under the cover, wincing as I twisted the wrong way, before I settled in, watching the TARDIS's gently dance as da moved around my room.

"Need to get you reorganized again, turning into your bloody father."

He turned at my chuckle, seeing me curled up.

"I'm sure Mycroft will inform the headmistress that you will be out of school for a bit, so just concentrate on resting, okay love?"

"Yes daddy. Goodnight."

He simply kisses my cheek, leaving me to fall asleep, which I finally do after a few minutes, forgetting about the letters pressing into my side.

* * *

_Pain, I remember pain. Rough hands pulling me before a fist connects with my abdomen again, forcing the air out of my lungs._

"_Little bint. Think you're better than us just because your poof dad is a knight and you met the bloody queen." That would be idiot bloke number one._

"_I say we just throw her in the river." Ah, & there is idiot bloke number one's brother._

"_Shut it, you twits!" Well shite, so she __is__ here._

_But before she says anything again, a different voice replaces it._

"_Always knew precious Potter wasn't as saintly as they say."_

_Rough hands grab my throat._

"_Someone finally taught you a lesson, huh freak?"_

_Suddenly, HER face in mine._

"_I'll make you regret ever trying to take me down." She whispered before hitting me with a sharp rock across my face before holding me up, allowing idiot blokes one, two and three to have a go at me._

I shoot up, hissing in pain, covered in sweat, a scream on my lips. I haven't thought about that in years, repressing that event in the depths of my mind. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I find my whole body throbbing, blood dripping down my face onto my thigh. I hated this, I can never sleep after nightmares; they just cause my mind to get into a tizzy. Limping into the bathroom, I clean myself up again, seeing the blood was from a minor cut that I stretch when I jolted awake. Turning the water off, I simply stand on the cool wooden floor, trying to even my breaths. That's when I hear it: dad's violin. I move quietly down the steps, as da's door was closed, meaning he was dead to the world.

When I make it to the living room, I can see dad in front of the window, the violin tucked under his chin while he played what sounded like another original piece. I slide into dad's chair, staring up at his face; I love his face when he is lost in a piece, because that is when he is most relaxed. I just wish my body was relaxed; I should have taken those pills before I slept.

"Sara left you a couple doses of the pills. They are in a bottle in the side if John's chair." Dad's voice is gentle, flowing along with the music coming from the violin.

Nodding, I slowly stand, wincing, and move to da's chair. I find the pills and swallow them, aided by the cold tea in the cup da abandoned before sleeping. I relax into the plush, continuing to watch dad play his new piece. When he finished, he placed the item on the table before moving to me, carding his fingers through my bangs.

"Nightmare I take it?"

I nodded, but didn't answer, leaning into his touch. When he moves away, I lean back, pulling my knees up under me, watching him move to the telly, finding a half-finished Doctor Who episode. '_Oh, it's a Chris episode…OH it's Empty Child!'_ That is my favorite episode of the Ninth doctor's tenure. Dad just sits there, critiquing the episode like normal, pointing out things I have somehow missed, even after several viewings. After the episode ends, though, I can't avoid dad's stare. I sigh and turn, intending to head off another talk about my nightmares.

"It was just about-"

"That's not what I want to talk about. When did you decide that you need to police the wizards that might pop over on this side?"

"This is my home dad and I don't want them to think I'll just roll over just because I've been out of the world for three years; let them think I've lost my abilities."

"Mycroft has plans and several back up plans to prevent their plans and the Queen has authorized deadly force if needed. You are not required to get involved."

"I can protect you and da…protect Uncle Greg and…"

"We protect you, Stella."

"If I had done something, I wouldn't have lost you!" I cry out before shrinking back, tears flowing again. "I know why you left, I know why you had to do what you did, but I could have done _something_ to stop that man. He destroyed our lives daddy and I could have stopped him."

He stands and gathers me into his arms. "Foolish girl, yes you could have, but his network would still have been out there and they could have hurt you and john…and the others. I could have lost you. I was not going to risk that, not when you are mine to keep." He moves back and gathers my face in his hands, keeping my eyes locked with his. "Stop trying to be the warrior of the family, ok? That's what John is for. You and me, we are going to solve crimes so many times John's fingers will fall off."

He kisses my forehead when I finally nod.

"Now, about those letters you received."

* * *

A/N: OK, so back to the matters at hand. I knew Lucius would be a fun one to throw in between Stella and her men. (snickers) I had fun with the deduction phase. Anyway, reviews, opinions, likes, dislikes. Feed the raven.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hello all! This is my first adventure into a crossover story. I REALLY hope you like it, I have been working this for about a month. I would love your opinions, reviews, thoughts, what you like, what you didn't.

-Summary: 13 years of pain, suffering, & a wish for death is suddenly taken away when a man with slate/blue eyes gently grabs my wrist and just gives me a smirk.

-Story revolves mostly in normal London, with some mentions of the WW, maybe an 'adventure' to it later on. fem!harry, nonromantic john/sherlock, differentish Mycroft (to a point) and Greg just being Greg.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters. Duh. That is all I will say.

A/N: Ok, so a reviewer brought up the point that there is some time differences/confusion in the plot…it's a bit wibbly wobbly. So, it actually it has been 3 ½ years since Stella has been with Sherlock & John. She was about 6 months from turning 13 when she was rescued; so yah. I was originally planning the 1st chapter to be a one shot, but I fell in love with it as much as you guys; so I continued.

**So this chapter will go back and forth at times, so I will be putting the past in italics, like** _this_**. Normally I use those for thoughts, but I will be doing **this** for thoughts.**

* * *

"Now, about those letters you received."

I chuckle, pulling the letters from my side pocket; he never could let his curiosity go. Three separate, yet thick letters from a world I walked away from with no regret; I already knew what the twins & Neville would write about: jokes, missing me, pranking Percy and Ron, Herbology, Potions, jokes, & missing me. Draco, I didn't know what to expect with; so, I open his letter first, knowing dad was reading behind me. Going through the normal pleasantry, Draco then delves into more details: hmm, seems that…wow, did not see that coming; apparently he and the twins formed a new side to the war. A neutral/gray alliance that brought in people who didn't want to be forced into a war of their parent's trying to outdo one another.

"Would not have expected that from the sons of two very dark & light families. Though, Neville is too gentle a soul; war would have corrupted his innocence. The world is not prepared for twins in war; they would just let their minds go crazy in wartime. This is something I wish had been started before."

"I take it is not common to side against one's family?" Dad asked, sitting down again, me on the edge of his knees.

"It does happen, but it's rare in families like the Malfoys or Weasleys. It is even stranger to think that the twins are friendly with Draco, considering the centuries old blood feud between their families."

Dad only made a soft noise in the back of throat while I go back to the letter, instantly blushing and grabbing the letter to my chest, trying to prevent dad from reading that part. 'That twit, how could he say that?' I let the thought trail while getting my heart rate back under control.

"Stella?" Dad's voice had questions underneath my name, but I only shake my head.

"No, nope, not going to let you read that. Goodnight daddy." I respond, jumping up, ignoring the pain that arced in my head while doing so. But my wrist is held back, his hand bringing me to stand in front of him again. He had this look in his eyes that reminded me of my first time in the flat.

"Stella, you can trust me, I won't tell."

"_Stella, you can trust us. We'll never hurt you." John's voice was gentle; flowing down the stairs after Sherlock closes the door behind us._

_I nod. "I know." My voice is small and muffled into my coat._

_I hear him move down the steps, bringing my eyes up when he eventually kneels down in front of me. "I know you know. But, I also know that you were hurt by people who were supposed to protect you; I __know__ that kind of hurt doesn't go away after a couple weeks." His reply is hushed, for my ears only._

_Resting his forehead against mine, he continues. "You will never be harmed here and you are always welcome here. This will be your home, Stella; never let anyone tell you different."_

"Stella?"

Blinking rapidly, I let the memory fade away. "I know dad; just let me go through the letters first. I haven't written or spoken to them since I left and time has changed us all. I need to process their thinking patterns and…"

'Stop analyzing it like it's a crime scene.'

His gentle scoff warns me of the impending kiss that falls on my scar. "Fine, keep your secrets. Now, off to bed with you again; save the letters for the actual morning."

I nod and quietly slip back up the stairs and into my room. I curl up on my bed, eyes locked on the letters that I left on top of my laptop. I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep, even after a 'session' with dad, but my eyelids droop and I lose myself to my dream scape.

* * *

_The flat isn't that large, but it is warm. I can hear the fireplace crackling from the living room, but John leads me into me into the kitchen, my hand gripped tightly in his. Sherlock was behind us, but once we reached the second landing, he stole my jacket away and strode into the other room._

"_How about something to eat? I know you may not be hungry, but we need something in your stomach."_

_John has this ability to look very neutral while still making me feel guilty for making him sad; which is ridiculous, he is not sad. But his __tone__, oh that tone, made you feel like you were kicking his puppy if you went against his wishes. Because of this tone, I ignore my flipping stomach and sit in the chair he points out, seeing that he placed the chair in a position that allowed to me see into the living room, where Sherlock was moving around at an odd pace, his fingers flying over his phone. _

"_Here we are; some homemade chicken noodle soup. Mrs. Hudson brought some up earlier for you. You are going to fall in love with her food." John's voice was kind as he placed the large bowl of steaming liquid in front of me._

_It __did__ smell amazing, but my stomach was constricting at the thought of food. But, she was kind enough to make this; I should make an attempt to eat it, even if it felt like torture lifting my tremor filled hand to grab the spoon. Allowing the portion to cool in the metal spoon, I swallow the delicious liquid with some difficulty. Immediately, my stomach started flipping harder, causing me to grip the spoon tighter._

'_I will eat this, I will not make them mad.'_

_I don't hear Sherlock stop moving, nor do I hear John move behind me, but I do notice his grip on the hand holding the spoon, pulling said object from me. The chair is turned and I'm suddenly eye to eye with him, his blue eyes soft as he gently hold my hands in his._

"_Thank you for trying, sweetheart. I know it's hard: you're in a new place and you still think you'll be kicked out. But, I swear to you: this is your home now. You are going to have trouble with food, but we will get you back on schedule and starting putting some weight on you."_

_I wish I had him growing up, I wish I had Sherlock and Mycroft growing up; I know my life would be SO much different if I had grown up with them. Hell, even growing up around them would have been better. I'm not used to an adult __actually__ caring about what happens to me, let alone doing what these men were doing. I feel Sherlock kneel down next to the chair before his hand is resting on top of my head, fingers gently carding through the locks of hair. Catching his eyes, he gives me a small smile before nodding & kissing my forehead._

* * *

My eyes snap open at the muffled ringing. That sounds like my mobile; oh that's because it is my mobile. But I left that in my bag yesterday…oh, one of the dads must have brought it up at some point. I slowly crawl out from under the covers, my body still stiff, before locating my school bag by my desk; my mobile is still ringing. Dragging the noisy item out of the bottom of the bag, I flip it open, placing it to my ear.

"Ya?"

"Stella? Where are you? It's eleven am!"

Oh, well, hello Cadence, nice weather we're having huh? She would be the first person to notice I didn't come to school. "Good morning to you too, Candy."

"Don't call me that and don't divert: where are you?" So, chemistry must have tiffed her off; she was never this bitchy unless Mrs. Davis was being all stubborn and…well, let's not go there.

"I'm at home, obviously. Not using your brain cells today, Cadence?"

"Shut it!"

Sighing, I rub my temples; this is the last thing I need. "I'm sorry Cadence. I can't tell you what, but something happened after school on the way home. I got hurt, so the dads and the uncles want me home for a while."

Silence greeted me and I could practically hear the wheels in the redhead's mind working. "It was that bloody twit, wasn't it? I will kill her, that little cunt."

There it was: Cadence's fabulous anger and her wonderful use of the Queen's English. I adored the Scotswoman; she never ceased to amaze me when it came to rage. "Don't you dare. Let Uncle Greg handle it, ok? He is on a warpath, as is my Uncle Mycroft."

I can hear her grumble before she answers. "Ok, FINE. When will you be back, chickie?"

"Don't know, at least a few days. I'm stiff and sore and some wounds are still opening up at times, but da's taking real good care of me. Listen, can we talk later?"

After extracting a promise to call her by at least tomorrow, Cadence hung up and I flipped the mobile shut before placing it down on the nightstand. Stripping out of my pajamas, I don loose clothing again, not wanting the pressure to aggravate my wounds anymore then my moving was. I can hear someone moving around the kitchen, most likely da; so that means dad was in the living room again, more than likely working on a case…or you know, watching crap telly again. Grabbing my mobile again after I wrap my torso in a warm jumper, I found several messages from Cadence since this morning, like normal and three missed calls with accompanying voicemails from her as well. 'She doesn't give up, that's for certain.'

After slipping the device into my pocket, I open my door to find the house filled with the scent of my absolute favorite food: da's apple cinnamon pancakes. He started making them for me after another one of my late night/ early morning nightmares kept me up and dad was actually sleeping, so da decided to have a midnight breakfast with me, one of many bonding nights when dad succumbed to his body's demand for sleep; not that he ever got very much of it. I make it down the steps without any pain, seeing da in the kitchen, in his own world, a large stack of the delicious hotcakes on the table. Dad, on the other hand, was in his chair, knees drawn up to his chest, eyes closed while his hands moved randomly through the air. So, in other terms, he is in his mind palace, processing either the current case or what happened yesterday with me or, more than likely, both at the same time. The ottoman is pulled close to his chair, the case files from Uncle Greg spread out in a chaotic pattern that was clearly my dad's. Standing next to him, I read over the file, taking in the facts: twins found murdered by the same methods, although one was in Essex and the other in Paris; heirs to their parent's fortunes, both unmarried with no children, but long term partners; locations of bodies miles from where they should have been…confusing facts, but if anyone can figure it out, it's dad.

"What do you think?"

"Don't know, I haven't read up on all the facts and information. Has anyone looked at the wills? Do they name these partners at all?"

Falling into this routine lets me forget for a moment that I'm still covered in bruises and dried blood, in the case of my scalp. Early on, I was always fascinated by dad's work and he began teaching me deductive skills, although I am still nowhere near his abilities. It was just another thing that drew me closer to him, so when he sat me down one day to ask if it was ok to adopt me, I could express confusion, because I thought he had already done this, drawing a laugh from da and Uncle Mycroft.

"Oi, either you eat some of this, or I eat it all." Da called from the table, silverware clinking against the plate.

"DADDY!" Letting my voice whine, I race into the room, pulling a rather large stack onto my plate, mock-glaring at him.

The time passed by in relative silence, allowing me to gather my thoughts after a long rest and a full stomach. I knew that someone was going to be charged for the assault, but knowing this and it actually happing to the whole group were two separate agendas. The CCTV footage would play a key role, but knowing that Uncle Greg & Mycroft would view it multiple times and then the footage would be used in any court proceeding sank my heart. Then it would only be a short time before the school found out the truth; last thing I need is another student body either worshipping or vilifying me.

I'm brought out of my thoughts by da standing at the sink, already washing the dishes. I jump up and help him, somehow getting soap & water all over my jumper while he remained dry through the whole adventure. Dad was pacing between the kitchen and hallway now, fingers steepled under his chin; the case must be twisting with no turns for him to be pacing like that. Normal case pacing is usually kept to the living room. I can't help the smile that spreads when he starts mumbling out loud in his usual gibberish, Sherlock speech, but my attention is drawn away from him when my mobile goes off again.

"Is that Cadence?" Da asks, drying the last dish.

"No, she phoned earlier, that's what woke me up." Pulling the device out of my pocket, I see the caller id reading 'unknown'. "Hello?"

"You little bitch, I am going make you regret your very breath!"

Her. Well, there goes my morning; how does she have my number? I feel my body stiffen and I know my face paled when the dads got very concerned. Quietly, I move the phone from my ear and put in on speaker, Lucille's voice soon filling my kitchen.

"Do you even know what you did? You bleeding snitch, my parents had to pull me from Scotland Yard! Oh, I am going to end you, you blood wretch, do you hear me? I will kill you. Should have let Joff throw you in the Thames like he wanted! Did you hear me, freak?"

Dad's eyes darkened with every word & I can see da shaking, the dish towel getting beat up.

"Oh, we hear you." Dad's voice was deep, ice in every word, as he grabs the phone from my hand.

Lucille was always a snarky, vindictive bitch, but she wasn't that idiotic. Her line quickly hangs up, but dad was already phoning Uncle Mycroft. I'm still rooted to the spot, anger and fear running through me as I again recall yesterday; my body suddenly aches more, the bruises throbbing.

"Is everything alright? I heard a rather rude voice just now."

Bless you Mrs. Hudson, always knew how to break a mood.

"Just some idiotic phone call, Mrs. Hudson." I respond, giving her a weak smile.

But, then I remember she had not been there last night, so she had no idea what had happened. So the look of shock and horror on her face is somewhat warranted; thus, I allow her to go into mother hen mode, rushing about, pushing me back into the living room, into dad's chair with the order of not moving until she came back with a fresh pot of tea. All that without her customary 'not your house keeper' line.

Explaining this to her would not be fun.

* * *

_Meeting the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, was an adventure of 'not moving back from her gentle touches even when I wanted to because she is being super nice to me'. She was really kind, but very hands on and right now, that is the last thing I need; I just got away from Molly Weasley, I don't want another one. Sherlock must have sensed this, because he picks me up, soothing tremors I didn't even know were starting; I can hear John reassuring Mrs. Hudson it wasn't her fault, I was just easily overwhelmed right now. Sherlock scoffs & walks back up the steps, my face tucked into his neck._

"_She is very nosy and is a busy body, but she does make good biscuits." He says this quietly into my hair, sitting down in his chair, pulling me tight to his chest._

_Something about the scent of pine/rain just relaxed me, making it easy to start lulling off while Sherlock again carded his fingers through my hair, his own eyes closed._

A fresh, hot tea cup placed in my hands jars me from the memory, Mrs. Hudson's teary eyes watching me before she left the room, anger and sadness overtaking her usual calm demeanor. I watch her go, ignoring da's movement around the room while dad was again texting either of my uncles.

Speaking of them,

"I'm going to go to Uncle Mycroft's today. I know you need to work on this case and I need to get some air. No dads, no argument; besides, I haven't been there in a while."

Silence greets my ears, prompting me to look up to see them both looking at me with some questions in their eyes, but they both eventually nod. A minute later, my mobile pings; damn you and your bugs, uncle. I take my mobile back from dad, flipping the item open, seeing the confirmation from my uncle and this, 'we also need to discuss HER and you also have a…visitor here.'

Well, please do try and be just a little bit vaguer there, why don't you uncle?

A/N: AND Cut! Oh wow, ok thanks for all the love. Any ideas as to who this visitor is? Any?_  
_


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Hello all! This is my first adventure into a crossover story. I REALLY hope you like it, I have been working this for about a month. I would love your opinions, reviews, thoughts, what you like, what you didn't.

-Summary: 13 years of pain, suffering, & a wish for death is suddenly taken away when a man with slate/blue eyes gently grabs my wrist and just gives me a smirk.

-Story revolves mostly in normal London, with some mentions of the WW, maybe an 'adventure' to it later on. fem!harry, nonromantic john/sherlock, differentish Mycroft (to a point) and Greg just being Greg.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters. Duh. That is all I will say.

A/N: (snicker) everyone seems to have the same opinion of Lucille. Nice. Also, everyone thinks Fudge or Dumbledore have come to visit, but it will be a **very** cold day in hell before Mycroft lets those men anywhere near Stella. Plus, Albus doesn't know she=Potter.

* * *

After allowing da to redress my injuries, seeing that my abdomen was still darkly covered in purple, I pull my jacket on while dad shoves his scarf in my hands, not meeting my eyes. At times, he still acts like a cold fish, but I know better; I know he adore me as much as I adore him. He doesn't even let da touch his scarfs, yet I have access to whatever one I want whenever I want. I wrap it around my neck; receive two hugs and a kiss on my cheek from da, than start down the stairs, my mobile pinging. As I walk out the door, Uncle Mycroft's car pulls up and the door opens, revealing his assistant, who then stands by the open door.

"Hello Athena." I greet her as I slide into the car.

She simply gives me a smile as she follows me in, the door closing with a soft thump. Her fingers were constantly flying over her phone; no doubt running off my uncle's orders. I rest my forehead against the window as the car pulls away from 221 B, letting my mind rest. I really hadn't been to see my uncle in a while; not since…not since I figured out dad was alive and confronted my uncle about it and he told me that I couldn't tell da to protect us both; & it ended up being for three months. Three bloody months of having to almost completely avoid da because daddy was almost home and if I said anything, I could ruin it all; would alert the potential spies watching me and da that we knew something they didn't. I had been so afraid that when da finally learned the truth that he would hate me, but he only held me and apologized that I had to keep that in.

'_I understand, sweetheart, I do. I'm not mad at you, never will I be.' Da's arms wrapped tight around me while I grip his jumper, crying into his chest._

Da had given my uncle a verbal lashing that was almost legendary; honestly! Dad had me retell whenever he was really upset at Uncle Mycroft; it never failed to put him a good mood. Not to mention the fact that my uncle had failed to inform dad that I had figured out he was alive; he had failed to tell him that I had been burdened with the knowledge that I could have a sniper aiming at me from Brook/Moriarty's web of assassins at any point of time. I have seen dad angry at my uncle quite a few times, but that moment was one of the few times dad actually scared me. The fact that the _incident_ only happened a couple months ago didn't help take that image out of my mind. I had a feeling that the two years spent in isolation away from home made him super protective of me; which is why Lucille's threat was incredibly idiotic on her part.

The car stopped and Athena opened the door and slid out, myself following a second later, the familiar path leading my feet. But, I stop and look up at the townhouse, old feelings of anger stirring as memories resurface.

_It has been roughly a year & a half since…since dad fell…fell to protect me, da, my uncles…fell and left. I can still remember sitting in my Chemistry class, Cadence going a mile a minute next to me when my heart suddenly clenched. I knew instantly it was my bond with my dad fraying; you see, while my magic was dormant, it still acted on its own accord when it needed to. Like when it formed the tight nit bonds with my dads and my Uncle Mycroft & how it connected me to them in a sense that I could always kind of sense them at the back of my mind. Dad was the first to discover it, saying that his mind palace had a new door, but Uncle Mycroft said he noticed a difference as well; da couldn't see into his mind like the Holmes brothers, but he said he could almost sense me at times. At first, he had put this to his training, but he was ecstatic with the new connection with me._

_But the pain clenching my heart was something I hadn't experienced yet, my hands gripping the front of my uniform, Cadence's hands on my back as she was asking me if I was alright. I stand quickly, knocking my chair back and race out of the room, mobile in my hands as I try and call dad, but it goes straight to voice mail. I try da, but the same thing occurs; that's when I knew to panic & do step three. Texting _salutem_ to my uncle, I continue out the doors, not caring for the administrators yelling after me, nor do I care about the biting cold winds I encounter._

_I remember running to the flat and yelling for dad, while my mobile remained silent; highly unusual as Uncle Mycroft always texted me back with my next steps. I don't know how much time had passed before da came home, finding me still on the steps, still standing while facing the door. All I had to do was look at his face to know that something had happened to dad; but I was not…not thinking suicide. I know I collapsed, but after that, nothing until I woke a day later on the couch._

_This long and it hadn't gotten any easier; I still expected him to waltz into the flat, ranting about another 'number five' case that Uncle Greg had given him. At times, I talked to Rupert, the family skull on the mantle, like he was dad, needing to vent like I always could with him. Around this time, Cadence always knew that if I didn't show up to school that she shouldn't call and would cover for me in my classes; not that I particularly cared. _

_Today, instead of getting into my uniform, I bundled up and wandered out into the late October air, mobile tucked into my coat pocket, dad's scarf around my neck. I found myself in Hyde Park, the ground hard and crisp in its preparation for the snow that would surely fall soon. I don't know how long I wandered before a sharp tug in the back of my mind stopped me cold, a door creaking open that should have been frozen._

'_I'm imagining this.'__ But the familiar bond reattached itself & my heart was starting to race at the potential truth. With my whole form trembling, I move to the nearest bench and sit down, closing my eyes as I do so. Within my own mind scape, I see the door wide open, soft white light flowing through. Then, images that I can only describe as a third person view of myself flitted in and out; myself from a distance or from behind in a crowd or hidden behind doors and objects. I recall the numerous times I felt like I was being watched, but I could never pinpoint the source. Pulling out of my mind, I'm unsurprised to find myself crying, but I stand and start running in the direction of my Uncle's office, the one most actually know about. I don't pay attention to the crowds around me, running through crosswalks, & weaving through cars. I don't even acknowledge the security officers as I bolt in the door, a stitch already forming in my sides as my lungs burn from the intake of cold air while speeding here. I barely touch the steps as I bolt up to my uncle's office, slamming the door open. When warmth washes down my face, I realize that I am still crying; but I don't stop, storming into my uncle's office, bypassing Athena, who had a shocked expression on her face as I did so._

_My uncle's head had snapped towards the door when I burst through, the phone still in cradled in his hand. He glanced at my face, bid the caller on the other line goodbye, than hung up the phone. I was still panting, trying to catch my breath, but I practically yell_

"_He's alive?!" I hear the door close quickly behind me, but I watch as my uncle freezes in place._

"_Don't even think of lying to me, Uncle Mycroft! Daddy's alive isn't he?"_

_He sighs and rests his hands on the edge of his desk, head turned away from me. "How?"_

"_Remember the bond? Well it sealed when daddy…when he…but just now, the door opened and memories of him watching me appeared! Dad is the __only__ one who can open the door, Uncle Mycroft!"_

_He straightens up again and walks over to me, placing his hands on my shaking shoulders. "Yes, he's alive. But, he has been taking out Moriarty's empire; it is spread through several countries. He didn't know it was this expansive, but he knew that he was 'alive' to them, you and John would be constantly used against him."_

"_So he 'died' and you helped. Does Nan know you helped destroy our lives? Both by helping him and __releasing__ that mad man! Oh yes, da told me everything uncle. He is going go mental with this."_

"_John cannot know, Stella. You have the ability to hide what you know due to Sherlock's training, but John would not be able to hide it."_

_I can only stare at him, horror squeezing my heart at the thought of lying to my da about something like this. _

"_My dear, I know that to ask this of you is the worst thing, but for the safety of both you-"_

"_I understand." My voice is cold and hard, mirroring dad when speaking to someone who has annoyed him, usually Donovan or Anderson. I turn and slam the door open, startling Athena and quickly leave the building, heading straight out, pausing when my mobile goes off._

_Da's voice fills my ear as I place the speaker to it. I can barely control the sobs that escape my lips at this point, pushing him into action. He figures out from my garbled words where I am and tells me to stay put, but doesn't get off the mobile with me until a taxi pulls up and he jumps out, arms wrapping tight around me. He assumes that I'm breaking down over the anniversary and doesn't ask questions; just takes me home, my face tucked into his neck._

* * *

Shaking my head, I walk into the building, Athena behind me the whole way. The building was humming with people, most of them staying out of the way with files stacked high in their arms; most don't even notice me, but they do pay attention to Athena, who starts issues commands before returning to her BlackBerry. The trip up the steps is quiet, but when we reach the fifth landing, she breaks off and walks towards my uncle's study, still motioning me to the office, which I enter a second later.

"Hello Uncle Mycroft." My voice is still tight from my sore throat, but it carries in the silent office.

"My dear, how are you feeling?" He replies, standing when I reach the desk, giving me a brief hug, allowing me to kiss his cheek.

"Stiff & sore, but Sara left me with couple more of the pills, so it's helping. I haven't had to heal something like this since…since I first came here."

I almost sit in the offered chair before a gentle voice comes from behind me. "You shouldn't have to anymore, my dearest."

"Nan!" I turn quickly to see my grandmother standing, her hair, usually in a bun, was flowing down her back onto her long green dress. I almost run into her open arms, breathing in her unique scent of basil and olives as she hold me to her chest; my grandmother always knew when I needed her.

Lady Cassandra Melina Holmes was a very exceptional woman: former MI-6, she was a fully trained spy when she first met the late Lord Jeffrey Holmes, who only encouraged her until she stepped down from her role when she was pregnant with my uncle. Even after all these years, she still has the respect of most of the agency; I think I know why my uncle has her here.

"My lovely, let me see what those horrid thugs did to you." She whispered, pulling back with my face cupped in her hands, similar to dad earlier this morning. Her eyes grew sharper the longer she looked over me; her hands stilled and she turned to my uncle with a look so similar to her sons.

"Do tell me Mycroft, what was this girl's name again?" Let no one doubt where my dad and uncle get their ruthlessness from; it is from this glowering woman that Uncle Mycroft got his more…_creative_ punishments.

"Lucille Marroe. Age 16, average intelligence, although after that phone call last night I would seriously doubt this, nouveau riche from her parents, average grades, no proper AS levels, a string of no good boyfriends, has crashed four cars and has no drivers permit, & then has had several incidents similar to yours." Mycroft ticked each item off like he had memorized them; which I'm sure he had.

Nan was still holding my face in her hands, but her mind was away, already forming a plan of attack against Lucille. I manage to wiggle out of her hands, her own falling away as she plotted. Turning to my uncle, I finally sit down, drawing my left knee up to my chest. He retook his seat, drawing his laptop to him.

"Tell me everything, Stella. She obviously has been at this since you started at the school."

"As if you don't know most of it from last night; those bugs have got to go uncle. As for her, she's a bully, I dealt with all kinds of them in primary & at Hogwarts, and I'm used to it."

I almost try to leave it at that, but I know better and with a single look from him, I start talking. Covering almost three years of harassment, bullied and mild assaults, usually in the form of shoves, trips or items thrown at myself, was not simple, especially when both he and Nan wanted details down to the time period these incidents occurred. An hour and a half later, Uncle Mycroft had seven pages of notes and Nan was angrier than I have ever seen her; even after she found out about Moriarty and dad. I almost gave up and left, but then I remembered the other text.

"Uncle, you mentioned a visitor?"

"Yes, him; almost forgot about him. How much do you know about the circumstances around your parents' death?"

"Not much, I know they were in hiding from Voldemort, as were many families who were fighting against him. I know he somehow found where we were and…and killed them and somehow failed to kill me. I know mum had something to do with it; some crock about 'love' defending me, but personally I think mum unconsciously used blood magic to protect me."

"They were hidden away, but unlike most, they were using a charm that completely hid their home away; the spell designated a 'secret keeper', meaning the only way the house could be found was if the secret keeper revealed this. Now, they story originally states that you father's best friend was that person the night they were killed and up until 3 years ago, that's was the thought until he was able to prove that your parents switched at the last minute because he would be too obvious. They switched to a man named Peter Pettigrew, who-"

"I know that name…oh where do I know it from? OH, one of the twins mentioned it…beginning of my second year. They said something about new…evidence about…Sirius Black. Was that him?"

"Yes, it wasn't hard to get himself released from prison once it was revealed that he had been chucked in with no trial. It was revealed that Pettigrew had set him up, killing those innocent civilians when Black confronted him after the murders then transformed into a rat. From what I read in your books there are certain people who can turn into animals & I believe the people who can do this are called 'Animagus'. He has cut off his own finger to make it look like he had died with the civilians."

'_A rat…missing toe…would have been at least thirteen years old…OH!' _I can barely suppress the laugh that tries to burst out at my revelation.

"Oh my goodness, Ron was has had him in his bed! That twit, who hate's anything strange or different has had a MAN sleeping next to him for years!" My body is shaking from the chuckles as the thought runs front and center.

Uncle Mycroft lets me settle myself down, although I do see smirks on his and Nan's lips. "Sorry, please continue."

"Now, this man, Sirius Black; he was not just your father's best friend. He was named your godfather and guardian, according to the Potter's wills."

My laughter ceases abruptly as fear grips my whole body at those words. "What does that mean now, Uncle Mycroft?" I can't stop the fear that shakes my voice.

"At first, he was going to fight to regain custody of you, thinking that you were still with the Dursleys. But, after he was brought here, it was explained that you were adopted and in a home where you were happy and healthy. He is having a hard time believing anything without actually seeing you; which I am hesitant to do." My uncle is very protective of me and he knows I don't ever want to be forced away from 221 B. I know he will do anything to keep me safe; just as he does for dad.

"He picks today of all days to demand to see me: when I'm covered in bruises and dried blood. Does he pose a threat to me, uncle?" I'm still shaking, but it's reduced, Nan's hand on the back of my neck a welcome presence.

"I highly doubt any harm will come to you through him; he's just very insistent that he speak to you. I have determined he is not working for the Old Man or Voldemort; it appears he was not supposed to know you were alive at all. He hasn't attempted to contact you sooner because he was both recovering from his imprisonment and clearing up the legal proceedings."

After a moment, I nod. "Ok, if you think it's safe, I'll meet with him. But…"

"I'll get John & Sherlock here as fast as I can." He was already texting my dads.

"Thank you Uncle Mycroft."

He only nods and stands when I do, moving around his desk until he could place a hand on my back, guiding me out of the office towards his study. As we draw closer, I can hear a muffled voice from the room; clearly a man's voice. I can't make out what is being said until Uncle Mycroft opens the door and the voice spills out.

"…keeps me here any longer, I swear to Merlin I am not going in nicely! Now I want to see my blasted goddaughter!"

Sirius Black was a tall man with long black hair that was pulled back into a low ponytail, his gray eyes trained on Athena, whose lips were pinched together as she faced the man, who was yelling at mere inches from her face. She turned when the door opened; causing him to turn as well, but his rage was wiped from his face when he spotted me.

"Stella!" He started across the room towards me, causing me to back into my uncle, who grips my shoulders. The man freezes at my movements, but then looks me over, anger again building in his eyes. "How is this safe? She is…I will kill them!"

"You will do no such thing! They are my dads and they did not do this." My voice snaps out, but at this point I no longer care; I'm tired of people threatening the men who raised me with more love and devotion in three years then any other in the 12 years before. "I was attacked by a group of idiots who are going to be punished; my dads have been nothing but help! You don't even know them; don't you dare to presume to understand anything about my life." I'm rigged, my muscles twitching both from pain and anger.

Sirius' eyes were wide as he took me in before a smile set on his face, a barking laugh escape his lips. "You are so much like your mother when you speak like that. I swear-"

"No, I'm like my dad, my uncle, & my grandmother. I'm a Holmes, sir and I will ask that you respect that. Yes, Lilly & James were my birth parents but they didn't raise me. I had a life of hell until I came here. For the past three years, I have been happy away from the Dursleys and the Wizarding World. You. Will. Respect. That." I know my eyes were bright with held back tears.

Sirius' face was saddened with my words, but he still gave me a smile before responding

"We need to have a talk, don't we?"

"Yes, we certainly do."

"I would think so."

Here comes the cavalry. I turn around to see dad pulling off his gloves while da was pulling off his jacket; both my dads eyes were trained on the lone wizard, analyzing him as they stop in front of me. Da grips my hand while dad moves forward until he is nose to…well, nose to chin with the other man; is it really fair that dad was that tall?

A/N: Only one person actually got the visitor right, although koryandrs's deduction did confuse me. Ok, love me opinions and thoughts: the Raven is peckish. I LOVE you guys, you all make me so happy!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hello all! This is my first adventure into a crossover story. I REALLY hope you like it; I have been working this for about a month. I would love your opinions, reviews, thoughts, what you like, what you didn't.

-Summary: 13 years of pain, suffering, & a wish for death is suddenly taken away when a man with slate/blue eyes gently grabs my wrist and just gives me a smirk.

-Story revolves mostly in normal London, with some mentions of the WW, maybe an 'adventure' to it later on. fem!harry, nonromantic john/sherlock, differentish Mycroft (to a point) and Greg just being Greg.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters. Duh. That is all I will say.

A/N: Well, let's see how a properly recovered Sirius handles Sherlock in 'Dad' mode. Also, kurogami mika, your review made me giggle. Thank you.

* * *

Very few people can stand to stare at dad for long and not fail in the attempt; da & Uncle Greg were some of the only people whom I know that could do this. But there this Sirius was, his gray eyes trained onto my dad's; a very determined look on his face. I suddenly felt very protective of dad, knowing he would have some difficulty defending himself from the wizard in front of him, even if Uncle Mycroft did say Sirius would behave. Something tells me that Nan staying behind in the office may not have been the smartest thing; sometimes, she was the only one capable of calming dad down.

'_The way he was yelling when we came in leaves something to be desired, though.'_ I know I need to defuse before someone ended up with multiple black eyes.

"Are we going to talk or are we just going to just see whom cannot blink the longest?" I ask, effectively bringing their off eyes of each other. _'Like weeping angels?'_

"Yes, we have much to discuss gentleman." Uncle Mycroft was in my official favorite mode, 'The British Government' as I call it; he does not know I call it that, Uncle Mycroft isn't too fond of dad's nickname.

Da still has a grip on my hand as we move to sit down with my uncle at his desk, Sirius sitting in one of the chairs, his back to my uncle, as my dads pull me to sit in between them on the lounge, dad's hand resting protectively on my shoulders. Sirius is still glaring at him & I know he doesn't quite believe me about them not harming me. Which is highly irritating; after the Dursleys and Hogwarts, I do not linger around those who have hurt me, let alone cuddle into them.

"Stop it." I swear, sometimes I can thoroughly channel dad's tone of voice at times. Like now; with my whole being stiff as I glare at the wizard. He's not winning any points with me, of that I am certain. Sirius watches me with a wary expression, & I think he is starting to understand that no, I am not his best friend's daughter anymore and have never been like him or my mother. '_Why is this so hard for people to realize? Hard to be like someone when you can't even remember them.'_ I can feel dad's fingers twitching as da simply shifts, pulling my hand closer to his side. I can tell he just wants to shove me out of the room for this conversation as he had no idea who the man was and that just didn't sit right with my solider father. Instead, he seems to settle for knowing that there are two men and a coffee table in the way of Sirius & I. Not to mention Uncle Mycroft and that trusty umbrella of his.

Uncle Mycroft sighs before speaking. "Sherlock, Dr. Watson, this is Lord Sirius Black, head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. He was the friend of James & Lily Potter, and also, the godfather of Stella."

Well, way to start uncle. Dad is suddenly very still next to me, prompting me to look up, finding his eyes lit up. He glances at me and I get the message. '_Over my dead body is he taking you.'_ Dad has always said that once he considers someone 'his', he doesn't let it go without a bleeding war. Not that I would go willingly away from home; Moriarty tried this and failed. While dad is stiff, da moves to his feet, placing himself in front of me; that's when I see his handgun outlined under his jacket. '_They were prepared for the worst!'_ Dad doesn't take the weapon out of the safe unless the case could turn for the worse. Just knowing that he would do this for me almost hurts; I don't want him to be put in this position.

"Da, please sit. I'm going nowhere, but he does deserve to explain himself." My voice is soft as I pull him back to sit.

Sirius looked almost grateful before taking a breath and began, retelling what Mycroft had told me earlier, only with more detail. He hadn't been well when he escaped Azkaban, the wizarding prison, and had been in and out of healing clinic after being proven innocent, trying to rebuild his health after twelve years surrounded by Dementors. These creatures are ones I am glad I only ever read about in my defense books; beings that feed on the very happiness of a person, reducing them to shells of their former selves. Apparently, he was also an Animagus as well, illegal too, and this helped shield him from the worst effects; although he still seemed to be effected somewhat psychologically. After getting his hands on Pettigrew, he was able to get into the Ministry and to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, all without being detected or revealing himself; just goes to show just how pathetic the security was when an escaped convict can find his way into the one place he shouldn't have been able to. Then, it seemed to unravel for the rat, quickly finding himself thrown into the public as a coward and murderer. It wasn't long before Sirius was a free man & looking for me, not happy that he had no leads. Apparently, I was reported as dead by Dumbledore, actually having the gull to say I had committed suicide.

Sirius was ready to go crazy with grief until the twins found him and explained that I was alive, but they didn't explain why I left, stating it was not their place to explain what happened; they did however, push Draco forward after stating that he was the reason I got away as quickly and safely as I did. They were not able to direct him to my location, although Draco did say I originally go my ex-aunt's. Sirius explained that he finally found Private Drive and found number four in an uproar over Vernon's arrest in London. Petunia knew who he was of course and began to scream at him about how 'my freakiness ruined her name and ruined her reputation.' She then proceeded to lock herself in the house, forcing Sirius to get the story from the neighbors; again, he was not anywhere near happy to find out that Vernon has been arrested on several charges of child abuse. He tried to find me in London, but apparently, I was very well hidden. I stop myself from looking at Uncle Mycroft when Sirius stops to take a drink, realizing that the wizard had been talking for about an hour already.

Dad's eyes were trained on the wizard, the cold look replaced with his detective look, filing away the information into his mild palace. He still manages to have me pulled closer, my head resting against his shoulder; I can tell he really suspects that Sirius wants me with him, wants to take me back to Wizarding World. '_Does he know the length's I went through to __not__ be forced back?'_ Dad seems to sense the thought, because his fingers are soon carding through my hair, easing the tremors that were building slightly.

"How did you find out about her, Mr. Black?" Da asks, in full Captain Mode. His blue eyes were focused on the man, but I could see the tremor in his left hand acting up.

"After the Weasley Twins explained how Malfoy JR helped you escape, I went to him for further help and after not finding you in London, I had to stop after a few weeks; I was still affected by the Dementors and needed care. I was in St. Mungo's for a few weeks, building up my strength and magic reserves. Then, I had to deal with all the legal paperwork and bullshit; but I also had Malfoy looking for you discreetly. Apparently, he knew that the minister knew where you were, even when you were supposedly dead; there was an apparent deal with a 'low level government employee' to keep you spirited away. Took a long time to get back to finding you between health relapses and the legal proceedings to get my house and vaults back & I thought that Gringotts would have to help me find you, seeing as I was listed as your guardian and godfather," He stops briefly when I shrink into dad again at those words, his gray eyes sad," but I was informed that you were under new guardianship and adopted into a family that would not allow information to be passed without approval from the two heads. Needless to say, I was upset, thinking I had lost you completely, not knowing you were truly safe from the likes of Dumbledore & Voldemort. Then Malfoy got back to me, informing me that he could contact you, but it would take a while. I took the chance and waited for word to come back; ended up being a bloody year, & then I was denied multiple times a chance for a meeting with the heads, up until a week ago. I do not appreciate being led around like a stray dog, Mr. Holmes." He directs this towards Uncle Mycroft, but I respond before scathing remarks could be formed.

"Dad wasn't here and I know Uncle Mycroft would have never done something like introducing me to you when my father was unable to be here. I also know I would have responded negatively to you and wouldn't be here at all." I don't move from my position from dad's arms, but I still lock eyes with Sirius.

"Cub, I don't understand why you left, only that it was horrific. How can you expect me to just walk away from you without any explanations?"

"Easily, as you have no legal right to my wellbeing anymore and I. Don't. Know. You." I grit out, holding back my temper.

"I remember holding you when you were a baby, when you refused to sle-"

"Sentiments do not represent any bearing here, Mr. Black. I have a life here, a home, a family I adore and a college career to decide on. I walked away from the Wizarding World almost four years ago with the intent of never returning. I was almost destroyed, not by Voldemort or his little followers, but by three fifth year trolls who decided I was an ample plaything. And then perfect Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore decided that my physical injuries and evidence from all of them and Draco was not enough and LET THEM GO! Nothing would happen to them and I would have been forced to heal and then deal with them for the rest of their school days! Not to mention I was fingered as the mastermind, never mind I was bloody TWELVE, of all the attacks happening on the muggleborns. When I needed help, when I needed someone to protect me, the ones with the means to did nothing and I had enough. I got out, left the world and I did what I could to make sure I would not be forced back: I snapped my wand and left the pieced in a gardener's shed in Surrey." I'm standing at this point, ignoring the tremors raking my body, the dads standing behind me while I stare the wizard down.

He had this horrified look on his face that reminds me of the times dad threatens Cluedo if da doesn't want to do something for a case. "Your wand, Stella are you insane?! You could have died if it had backlashed!"

"At that point, if that had happened, I would have welcomed it. But it didn't and I don't need a focus for my magic, if I even use it. I don't let myself be lazy; if I cannot do something without magic, then I am not meant to do it or I will find another way to do the task. I'm happy to be normal, or as normal as one can get with the world's only consulting detective and his blogger as my dads and two uncles who watch my every move between the two of them. Mr. Black, I do not know what you came here expecting, but if it involves taking me back to magical Britain where I can be shoved to the forefront of a war that no longer concerns me while grown adults stand back, you are sorely mistaken."

I turn on the spot and walk towards the door, anger seeping off me; that's when a hand wraps around my wrist. I jerk back, seeing the wizard at the other end; but I have forgotten for just a moment my injuries. They don't forget me and I can't ease the pain that spikes through my arm as the wounds pull open.

"Get off!" I cry out, finally pulling the arm out of his grip. I fall back against the door, tears pricking my eyes and the pain reemerges with a vengeance. "Daddy…"

Da was there in a blink, pushing up the sleeve of my arm to examine the injury. We both can see the fresh blood seeping through the bandages, but before we can do anything there is a scuffing noise that brings our eyes up; just in time to see dad clock Sirius, sending the wizard into Uncle Mycroft's desk, who looks positively pissed off. Then dad was at my side as well, my head mushed into his chest, thumbs wiping the tears away.

"It's ok poppet." I can tell he is holding back the rest of his rage that I know is just below the surface.

"I need fresh gauze and salve for this, the wound completely reopened. Mycroft, tell me you have that here." Da says all this, his hands wrapped around my bicep, trying to use the pressure to stop the blood flow.

"Yes, I'll have Athena bring the supplies in. Mr. Black, with me. Now." There was the Iceman mode I would never take for granted.

"No, wait, I never meant this! I just wanted to see my goddaughter again! She was 15 months old last time I held her! Mr. Holmes, don't do this. You are going to make me leave after I get told that she was RAPED? How can you just force me out when I need to be here for…her…" Sirius' voice was tight and desperate.

But I could tell he would fight if he thought there was any chance. That's when I figured it out: he did want me back with him, but he wanted my birth father back, even if it would be feminine version. Again, he doesn't understand that I am neither James Potter nor Lily Potter. I am Stella Astre Holmes (Watson) and I am my own bloody person, thank you very much. I muster enough control of the pain to stand, with dad's assistance and lock the man's gaze.

"Leave now, Mr. Black. I have no place in your world anymore and the simple fact that is you base desire shows any talks here will go nowhere. I will not leave London, I will not be some scapegoat for the Ministry, & I will not be some precious tool for Dumbledore. I do not care that you aren't here for them, but you are not here for me. I am a few months from my seventeenth birthday, Mr. Black and any legal papers from you would be voided. So, to prevent any further injuries, leave me alone."

He looked ready to respond but stops himself and nods, following Uncle Mycroft out of the study, leaving me with my dads. "Can we go home?" My voice is quiet, but in the silent office, it carries.

"After we get the dressings done, sweetheart. Then we'll get you home for a cuppa and then a lie down." Da's voice left no room for discussion, so I nod & allow dad to take me back to the lounge.

Athena come back in after a few moments with the supplies and hands them to da; who then quickly cuts off the old dressings, cleaning the wound up & applies the salve before the fresh gauze. Then I'm bustled out of the study, taking the jacket and scarf from Athena and bidding her farewell. I don the items as we leave, dad hailing a cab as we exit the building. The trip was quick and soon I was curled up on the couch, a cuppa of chamomile half drained in my hands. Da was beside me, his fingers mirroring dad's from earlier while said father was pacing the living room, ranting in Sherlock speak. Normally, one would never be able to sleep with the racket dad was creating, but my eyes droop close as da pulls the cup out of my hands. The last thing I remember before I fall asleep is the gentle kiss in the middle of my hair & da's arm wrapped tight around my shoulders.

* * *

_I have never seen London in spring before this, but it was beautiful; the trees were all budding and the flowering trees were blooming, along with all the flowers. Sherlock made no comment as I gazed around me, eyes wide as I took the sights in. Hogwarts was surrounded by evergreen pine trees, leaving us with just the Whomping Willow, but no one went near the psycho tree anyway. I never got to see the fall/spring process and the ones in Surrey were all the same trees going to sleep; same leaves every year. But London was amazing!_

"_It's so pretty!" I whisper, looking up at the man, whose hand I held tightly._

"_Wait until you see the cherry blossom trees in Hyde Park. The cultural board added a section last spring, so they will be old enough to flower." John responds, his hand tight in my other one. _

_We had taken a taxi out of 221 B, but I guess at some point Sherlock had seen me watching all the foliage fly by with some sadness because he had the auto stop, confusing me and John, before pulling me out, fingers wrapped around my wrist gently. "Sherlock, what-"John's voice stopped, but I was busy admiring the closest flowering tree with bright pink blooms to pay attention. I don't see Sherlock whispering to his blogger nor do I see the sudden understanding take over John's face. I do notice when Sherlock's fingers lace with mine and he starts walking, explaining each tree that I stare at for more than three seconds._

_This was one of my first real outings since coming to live in 221 B Baker Street and so far it was lovely. Every other trip had been to Dr. McNamera's, the dietician Mr. Deedra, or Mycroft's townhouse. But Sherlock and John needed to go to Scotland Yard to discuss past case details with Detective Lestrade, or Greg as he insisted I call him. He was another one of those people I just __felt__ safe around, like the Holmes' and John; it wasn't hard to feel safe around them when the rest of the world seemed to clear paths for them. Sherlock thought that it would essential I experience a new environment, hence my presence now._

_After the fifteen minute walk, we arrive at Scotland yard, the sleek silver building standing out among the brick buildings around it. As we walk into the building, Sherlock drops my hand but before I could react, his hand is resting on my upper back, guiding me up the steps. When we reach the fourth floor, we walk through a set of misted glass, the words Homicide etched in black standing out. John pushes the door open, leading our little group in. The sudden onset of work place sounds startles me for a second, but Sherlock's warm hand on my back calms me down instantly. There were several people milling around a few adjuring desks, multiple conversations floating about. But, I find my mind focused on a duo ten feet from us: one a tall, lanky man with a nose similar to Snape's and dark skinned woman who had a pinched face look to her, like she had something sour under her nose._

"_Just ignore them, Sherlock. We don't have time for them." John whispered, turning back towards us._

_Sherlock simply made a small noise, but he kept his eyes on the pair, drawing my eyes back to them. I had this feeling they weren't very nice, if the nasty looks on their faces were anything to go by. Sherlock's hand was tense, betraying his feelings, at least to me. That settled it then: they must be stupid and horrid, if Sherlock was already reacting like this. As we drew closer, the woman stood up from where she had been leaning on the desk._

"_Well, freak, what do you want now?" The woman all but spat the words our way._

_I can't stop the massive flinch that appears at her word, my movement freezing. Why does that word always follow me? I hate that word so much; Vernon used it for a name until I started attending primary and then used it to insult and torment me. But…but she's not looking at me, she's glaring at Sherlock, who was ignoring her, his slate/blue eyes lit up. His hand is rubbing circles on my back, his torso bent over, and his voice murmuring into my ear. Oh yes right, he knows everything about my uncle and his abuse. He knows my trigger words after a lengthy discussion after the nightmare last week. But, John knows as well, this reminder bringing my eyes up to watch him, seeing him rigged._

"_Oi, psycho, who let you near a kid? Freak, we're-"The woman was interrupted by John._

"_Enough, Donovan. She is of no concern to you. Stella, you alright?"_

_I nod, but curl into Sherlock's side when he straightens up. We walk past the pair of inspectors, but a cold hand gipping my bicep harshly pulls me back, bringing the lanky man's beady brown eyes into mine. He has foul smell to him and when I try to pull back, he just hold his ground. "Got yourself a little freak, Freak? Although Sally is right, who let you near a kid?" He seems to be ignoring my attempt to pull my arm away, but a welcomed voice sounds behind us._

"_Anderson! What the bloody hell do you think you are doing, manhandling a child?!" D.I. Lestrade was glaring at the lanky man, whose grip loosened, allowing me to pull back. _

_Sherlock had me behind him in an instant into John's arms before marching up to this Anderson. He grips his collar and pulled his face close, Sherlock's voice coming out in a hissed whisper, although we could hear him still. "Touch her again, Anderson, and I will end you. Filth like you do. Not. Touch. Her." _

_Let no one say Sherlock wasn't caring for those who mattered; the past few months, he's fallen into his version of a father with John there to guide when needed. I wouldn't have him any other way; he was teaching me more deduction techniques and lets me help with the easier, nonviolent cases that come in. He's teaching me Chemistry, although I am still having a hard time understanding it, in the lab that had been moved from the kitchen to the downstairs flat, & he's been helping me build up my own mind palace to organize my mind. He figured out that the reason I always have a hard time concentrating is that I can't stop my mind from multitasking; in other words, I think too much and keep getting side tracked. Once my mind started gaining order, I found it much easier. He never got upset when I woke up in the middle of the night screaming from a nightmare, only held me until I fell back asleep or brought me down to the living room to distract me; usually it involved a telly program or his playing his violin._

_Greg was able to get Sherlock to drop Anderson and direct him towards his office, which is where John had led me seconds before. The detective is still angry, but his touch is gentle as he again pulls me to his side, fingers buried in my hair. John is stiffly arguing with Greg about how Anderson deserves some form of punishment, to which Greg agreed. _

"_I will personally deal with him, John. He knows better than to touch another person, let alone a minor. Stella, you feeling better?" Greg had moved across the room, kneeling down in front of me._

_I give a shaky nod in response, sitting down in the chair he then offers. Sherlock steers the conversation to why we originally came here. They are clearing up the details of a murder scene from two weeks ago, something about a jealous babysitter and the wife of a wealthy publisher. While he was talking, Sherlock began carding his fingers through my hair again, prompting me to rest my head on his hip, watching them go over the case with a fine tooth comb, Sherlock explaining to the them what they missed. An hour later, we left the building with no incident, although I did hear Anderson being summoned by Greg as we left the department. Sherlock's mobile goes off as we reach the sidewalk, the device soon next to his ear. He talks quietly to the other end while John flags down a taxi; it pulls up just as Sherlock closes the device._

"_Seems we are needed in London Central Bank; an old college classmate needs our assistance."_

_John gives him a look that I know is asking for more information, but he gets none as Sherlock slides into the taxi, pulling me with him. The blonde only sighs before entering, letting the taxi take off back to 221 B._

* * *

When I wake up again, it's either very late or very early morning, if the dark sky outside was anything to go by. But the lights were turned up, dad still pacing, although now confided to the area between his and da's chair. Speaking of da, he was no longer my pillow, my head buried in dad's jacket while the throw was pooled around my hips. I knew I would be in some pain, but I was not expecting the severe pain that shot through my arm and abdomen as I sat up. I couldn't hold back the cry of pain that leaves me, but do finally sit up, my feet burying themselves in the plush carpet.

'_Come on, get up. Stop it.'_ I make it halfway up before dad's hands steady my ascent. He guides me to the kitchen, were da was busy filling the kettle. We stayed standing, myself leaning into dad; da should have been sleeping, he had surgery in the morning. I should have known better, but I was hoping for life to go back to normal; even after the past couple days. But after everything with Sirius Black, I needed to vent.

"Are we not going to talk about it?" My voice is cracking but I won't let that stop me.

The dads both stopped and watched me carefully. "How close was I to being taken tonight? That man could have brought so much down on us and it frightens me that even after all this time…" I stop when the tears start falling down my cheeks.

Dad's gentle scoff is soon followed by my chin being brought up. "How many times must I tell you Miss Holmes, that you are mine and I will not give you up. My daughter, they would have to tear the world apart to take you from here." His smile is something I adore because it is so rare to see, but there is it, directed at me.

He always knows how to make me feel better this man. Every day since he rescued me, he has been a constant stance of support, frustration, & trust. But I wouldn't want anyone else as my father; it's always been the childish wish I had the TARDIS so I could run back and make it so, but I know that everything I've been through, even the horrid events, have shaped me into the person I am today. Wiping the tears away, I hug him tight, breathing in his scent.

"So dad, about those twins, any progress?"

I know he knows what I'm doing, but he goes off anyway, leading me the nearest chair before doing his 'Sherlock Rant'. Da hands me a cuppa, kisses my forehead , & then joins in, putting his notes from the crime scene into dad's landscape. Right now, I need this: my dads doing what they do best and dad running off his thoughts a mile a minute. My mobile pings in my pocket and when I see the apology from my uncle, I can only smile. '_Another rare event.'_

I'll deal with Lucille, my wounds and life tomorrow. I realize now that I can't run from the Wizarding World forever, but when I so return, it will be on my terms and I will not be alone. The day Sherlock Holmes & Dr. John Watson lets their daughter back there by herself is the day hell freezes over & Anderson does his job as he actually should.

But that is for tomorrow. I sip my tea & throw my insight into the case every now and then, watching dad jump from room to room via chair travel.

Tomorrow: Life. Tonight: Holmes/Watson family bonding.

A/N: Ok, woah, this ending just spilled out of my fingers. DO NOT think this is the end. Stella is not done. It does seem like it is ending, but I didn't want any cliffhangers this time. I'm going to start working on other parts of the plot and OH boy, Lucille better watch out. Any recommendations for her? Again, I adore all of you and the Raven is hungry for reviews.


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